me now. This wrinkled flesh,
all the mis-steps
in my slurring dialogue
and the shirt,
missed buttons setting me up
for a chuckle or two -
my gait unsteady as I
cross a sidewalk or three.
This memory in flashes,
on newsprint where phrases
blend between the ink
and I take the train
to where the sun
promises a-shine forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem