when i wake up
this morning
the door is half-open
i did not touch
it
something in its
rough feel
still hurts my
fingers
someone i love
so well
left me before
i could see her
face again
it was her
who touched that door
very early
that morning
it is departure
that i felt and that
which i cannot
touch again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem