On quiet afternoons like this
I can sit and write
Open my eyes, or
take a walk,
See the beauty here in Park Slope;
Once I heard someone say:
Never sway away from the dream,
So I built where- there were no permits
Required
In sand,
Mud,
Even the air castles.
Nonetheless...
There was more:
If I turn on the computer screen you're
Here
It's all real
There's a liquid dream- behind the colored
Glass
I can feel your energy,
Your love...
Send instant messages
Tell you of quiet surrender;
The shyness I had to overcome with quelling
Strength
To survive...
And to become a New Yorker.
Later...
I'll send you an electronic mail, instead
Of a letter,
I'll hug the computer,
Should be you instead...
When I stop to look back I might recall
Some things
I might say how I care,
But in reality it's all a lie- a liquid dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem