Album Poem by Anahit Arustamyan

ALBUM
Are my whispers heard in the autumn rain?
A crane flew but I thought it was a plane.
I ran after it to reach your place.
I grow older and my eyes get pale.
I failed to distinguish the crane from the plane.
I grow older being the Earth's guest.
I am in the album on your top shelf.
The rain washes your window's face.
We grow older being so far again.
I am still the prisoner of my wooden chair.
Could the autumn winds be wings or sails?
The cheery wine was sweet on our wedding day.