Sometimes in extremity as I recall
I used to turn and stroke the wall
Fingertips against the smoothness
over and over and over
There was some meaning
concealed there and yet
Not hidden, open for the taking
it soothed some desolation in me
To imagine this; that there was speech between us
between my fingers and the wall, as I recall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem