The sound you make
is fainter than the sound
of rain softly falling outside
our windows.
I turn inwards
just to listen.
I cannot imagine yet
what whorls are forming
on your fingers
what dreams you might have
upon first waking.
I close my eyes
and try to see.
I try to think of my own mother,
humming, looking out the window,
waiting for me to touch her
through our barrier of skin.
I share her smile now.
I am waiting to see
yours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem