Poetry should come from the inside out,
from the soul’s cherry pit to the tip of the pen
capturing and holding onto the
beauty found in the ordinary:
a streetlight spiking out rays of light
through a midnight snowstorm;
walking on frosted leaves
when autumn and winter intermingle
before departing—
reaching out for your lover’s hand
in a crowded street because you want
to feel connected.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very nice work, and I really enjoy the way you describe it. =)