Sunday afternoon, April 7,2019; Thursday afternoon, May 12,2022
'I hear your voice/It's like an angel sighing...'
Madonna, 'Like A Prayer'
I didn't intend to write that poem
of Wednesday, nor this one today:
they just happen. They surprise.
Certain poems are felt somewhere
in the brain, and begin in touch,
in Merkel cells that sense and signal.
Memories arise as I hear your voice,
and I know then there was a time
when you and I might last—then, there,
over there, as the poem moves onward,
where it instinctively means to go,
felt in our touches, yours and mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem