you exist casually
within the confines
of your 9-5,
and you exist
exceptionally
within the
smeared silhouette
of whatever time
you happen to
have left;
occupying
those late
hours
with an ember
in your eye
and a spark
on your tongue
and a little bit
of hope
and a whole lot
of sadness
to get
you
by
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem