We stare holes
in the dark air;
we are all together
but far apart,
holding hands
like a cut-out
from Matisse,
a wrapped box
of unsteady futures,
a breath baked
like a cake.
Then the surprise
when the light
returns;
we have lost
the tenancy of heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thought provoking and a good piece, Loyd