In autumn. The wind whipping
Dead leaves down a grey street.
Wondering if you could just walk
Backwards. Could this be undone.
If everyone would just move in reverse.
They would seem to be dancing.
Back to work. Back across the street.
Taking off coats and opening briefcases
Back to bed. Back to the mirror this morning.
Drawing the blinds and closing the door.
Back to the beginning, Back to the warmth.
If we could dance backwards.
Nothing would stay buried.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem