Five PM, it’s too dark.
A mellow street sleeps
In the cold breast
Of November.
Black light
Enters from the window,
And it sounds like a
Buddhist ocean outside.
“This bedroom is so desolate…”
A phone rings…. I wait.
Again,
A white screech rakes at
My eardrums.
My hand reaches forward-
“Must a man always be
Alone in company”?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem