That Window? Poem by Francis Santaquilani
That Window?
That window? Oh,
That's another brother's room.
He only comes out in winter, though.
Even if he stood on a beach
Facing a golden sunset with his
Feet covered in warm sand and
Gulls chattering and skimming
Over the breakers,
He'd only see an abandoned barn
in a field of new snow ahead and
He'd only hear the crunching
Of ice glazed gravel under
His boots and an
Occasional cawing crow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 8:40:18 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I have to admit... the tactile presentation of barn, crunching snow, and cawing crow could well linger in my memory longer than the postcard sunset. -chuck