Three solitary colors:
Red,
Blue, and black;
One straight line,
No circle,
One scratch,
The name of Eileen:
Four times and
In three different sizes,
And one metaphor
Are laying down,
Waiting
Between the white canvas
And my exiled journal.
What I could not say
I wrote.
What I could not write
I painted.
What I could not paint
I scratched.
The painting exhaled
A breath of life;
Like Eileen
Exhaled me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem