he Eulogy
The son
His throat clutching and collapsing
On an evening of penciled words
The dust of his memories
Echoing like applause in this hollow church
Of long sacred windows
Dimming the ancient light of
His face mimicking a chapel of candles
Lighting a path to his father
As if he were on a vacation to the coast of Maine
And not alive
Forever in the brine of his tears
Falling like raindrops
Into the breath of his memory
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem