Our years grow old.
Slowly we learn
How to wait without waiting,
Like the earth in our body.
The evening:
A mirror of small mercies.
We see ourselves softened
By the water in its eyes:
The murmur.
We arrive to the evening
Naked as autumn.
Without leaves.
Without dreams.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem