You talk, and I listen.
I listen to the silence
behind your words,
the way the sun licks your grave
golden. How your ears
hear nothing, how I whisper
into them daily.
You talk, and I wait
for your lips to start moving.
I dig my heels into the dirt
next to your gravestone.
I whisper prayers to God
and my dreams to you.
You talk, and I wander
through the island of your thoughts,
pick a happy daffodil, or
gently crease a sad poppy
into the ground.
You talk and I want so much
to hear your words someplace
other than in my head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem