We meet through rising sea-breath.
Alike but strangers,
sharing these minutes,
you might know me?
Your green, my green,
your eyes, my eyes.
The atmosphere a holiday,
its vendetta
playing back mental tapes,
and just as the record head touches,
a gull screams,
and you are deleted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem