you stepped into a gaping precipice
leaving me with
my face moist
at the threshold
(its frame now leaning
to one side
splintered and unhinged.)
Did I tell you that my front door
never opened to the street?
Maybe I never had the need to;
you always entered through the back door,
you always crept out the window
to play in the sun.
This time was different:
Before another word could be spoken
you rushed past me
brushing my outstretched arm(s) .
Then all I could see
was your hair tumbling in the air
as your limbs flailed
while you plummeted out of my life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem