12' x 6', a tiny, unwanted space,
by everyone except me.
Private and untouched, it was
a pebble in a sea of diamonds.
I look back from the land of easy living
and workspaces,
and miss my box-room:
the tiny black space where
something developed.
Growing in the dark like a bean
was a fine biology.
Mushrooms like the dark,
as do the tastiest morsels.
It was the same at work:
the desk nobody wanted.
'Excuse me, I've got to
fit a smoke alarm.'
Phototropic, growing towards
the light, turning carbon into oxygen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem