some friendly metaphors
fly like tiny butterflies all yellowish
hover over my hair
i am tired and they make a show
of acrobatic letters and flowing words
like a cool stream
beside a hill
i am not upset because all i need is sleep.
and they understand
that sometimes
i may not write about them and their
unusual existences
like an aberration of light
a rarefaction
of lengths and a contortion of shapes
and they leave
but i whisper to one of those whose wings are too small
for its fragile body
perhaps, soon.
soon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem