lips rest on the fist
eyes nailed on the other
side of the road
crossing the glass boundary
of the window
something crosses the mind
focusing on the stillness
of time that does not run
for a while
on a standstill you capture
an idea
and then you shift your glance
once more
to write the words arranging
their placements
like they are all about to perform
a dance number
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem