Four A.M., Possibly Wednesday Poem by Anton Leyland
Four A.M., Possibly Wednesday
I kissed your hair in the nothingness of morning.
I put my lips to your shoulder as still you slept,
replaced the blanket that kept you a child.
I lay my hand on your hip, and for a moment thought
I heard your dreams released in a sweet, warm breath.
But you told me later that your sleep was dreamless,
and I told you I dreamed, but did not sleep,
for fear sleep would have stolen my dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 3:16:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
