Twilight's table.
In our mouth:
The last morsel of mortality:
A sigh.
The garden of the evening.
In our eyes: old pollen.
The dust of longing.
Hours made of loneliness.
The double exile:
From ourselves.
From the world.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem