I wonder about the sunrise-
Will it ever stop?
Will it pitch and yawn and
Boast - of bigger places,
Of harder places, of places
Of iridescent light tucked
Into lunch boxes and little
Girl smiles.
Will it hide in the crevices
Of Tinkerbox toys? Of windup
Dolls and carrots eaten raw.
Will it tip a little to the left as it swirls
Past dawn, fracturing into
Shards of sugar spun fun?
I lick my fingers free of sparkles
Thrown out by an errant spray
Of Sunbeams and yogurt.
Lift here, open other there,
Nothing is left but cardboard
Boxes, full of faded photographs
And unsigned hearts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem