Ruin. We say we have no more
reason to stay. We have no other
place to go.
How did we ever think about ruin
as the last word of our
sentence?
Now, we are here
Breakfast is ready.
No one is taking the fork
and the sun facing us
is nothing but this
egg,
scrambled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem