frost on the hawk's wings,
small face against the glass;
or perhaps just a memory,
black coffee and cigarette smoke.
bare limbed trees walk beside me,
down the path to the road....
mailbox hanging open,
only cobwebs in the damp.
the porch light still on,
like a ghostly lighthouse,
calling back things you've forgotten,
that i go through every day!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This has touched me, somehow. Speaking of a lonely person, longing to hear from people long forgotten. The porchlight I see as a welcoming sign. Very great poem...