Leaving is like taffy melting on the sidewalk-
Sticky, sweet, evenly bitterly so-
Long strings of attachments stretch out
Never quite breaking, never quite over
Then it is gone, and all that remains
Is a dark afterimage of everything that was
To be faded by time, wind and small
Blue-jeaned-bottomed boys who
Carry tad-poles in the left front
Pocket, disappearing in a smear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem