You put me in a caste
when you pity me.
Though I know pity is the only reason
you ever began to think of me.
In my mind I make our
documentary.
We are never in the same scene,
though we never think of anything else
but exchanging the lines we
had never said.
Or I never said.
I never said
anything.
I drove by your house
near midnight.
I never see you where I expect you to be;
in your driveway,
waiting for the bus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem