Why must they turn and look back?
Ruin everything at the last moment.
Lot’s wife... Eurydice’s lover...
Their answers only partly satisfy:
“Had to make certain she still followed.”
“Couldn’t believe the city I loved was in flames.”
Why, steps away from sure ground,
This urge to look over our shoulders?
To risk untold joy just up ahead—
For a furtive glance behind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem