I've left the light on
over the porch
which once opened
into my (house) .
There's rust on the hinges
and maybe that's why
the door creaks like
a broken mandolin
You have to give it
a bit of a shove
just for it to creak
open just a crack.
There once was a chair
There by the window
But it's gone now.
Like the memory
of the light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem