A breakable silence held
until a tear rolls
into a sob
and you turn away your face.
Each momentous thing
sends ahead
a piece of itself
to say it is coming.
An unbreakable silence held
until a tear fails
to well up
and you turn to me your face.
Each momentous thing
leaves behind
pieces of itself
to say it has gone.
(1989)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem