In the evening's glow,
your lips tightly closed,
you say, 'There are only fifteen minutes left, '
meaning the sorrow has already begun.
'We might be apart for ten or a hundred years;
we must be thousands, ten-thousand miles apart.'
But then you smile playfully
showing your real age.
You say, 'I forgot to say even the one sentence.'
I say, 'Yes, you seem to have forgotten that one sentence.'
We never got around to that sentence all evening;
but before we'd noticed, anyway, the sun set in silence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.