To that slightly
Obscure woman
Who threw the vase
Against the wall
I picked up
Your little dress
And cushioned it close to
My skin and somehow
It’s like mooring a soul
To a station.
I tried to collect
The slivers of your vase:
Your delicate possession
But why did you
Shatter the vase
Against the wall
While I was away?
A shambled fray,
This is.
I am a man
And my tears are far-flung
But then
When I saw you
Shatter that vase
Against the wall,
Your beautiful hands cut
And bleeding profusely
As the tears rummage
Down your dress
I tearfully break inside
And sometimes when I look at you
I get this slow sensation.
You look so beautiful it hurts.
I swept the slivers of the vase
And I know you have shattered
Many vases and simultaneously
Got your hands cut
But I haven’t shattered a vase
Against the wall, darling.
So now, I’m not just shattering a vase.
I’m sending it into oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem