you could walk into
a liquor store
and find some
kind of magic
in those cramped
aisles;
you could sit
on a bench
in a park at
noontime
and have it
all unfurrow
at your feet;
you could stare
at the moon
and catch its
light in your
soft and fragile
hands;
how do you
make it look
so easy,
and what’s
your secret?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem