The blinding noon sun.
It is the evening, the soft light,
That restores our eyes:
The shapes of the murmur,
Of the silence.
Hours like a minute desert.
No one left to see us
Little by little we learn
How to live invisible.
We reach the evening
With hands full of fate,
Yet empty.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem