Your red blouse
with the yellow triangular buttons
takes your shape
& then deflates
as the wind
mockingly blows life into it.
All day
against a blue of sky
so blue it would have to be lived
to be believed
it drying
on the rotary dryer
the mad whirly gig
of Time
living your dying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem