A Tanka Prose
Under the Dickinson bust an index card on which 'Remember, poetry...' is scribbled in red ink. Notebook in hand, back straight, mind alert, I start reading her last manuscript, 'Behind /Beyond the Attic Wall.'
the year
dying in the night
I alone
lean out the window
into the dark
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem