A petite blonde gives her beau a lingering hug in the street;
she is leaving him and i can feel the bittersweetness of their parting.
An elder couple, hand-in-hand, wait to cross the avenue
that separates Acres Park from their home.
A man and his wife, push their baby in a stroller
beside sunlit grass, and wildflower meadows.
It makes my heart ache to see such beauty; to acknowledge that love
comes out of the woodwork to nail together a ship-wrecked society.
I have no desire to be them, but rather to watch them—
these lovers in the park on a Sunday afternoon—
and wonder about their lives: how they met, how they stay together,
how they work through sensitive life material.
These lovers in the park on a Sunday afternoon
stay adoringly young in each other's eyes,
trampling across my heart,
leaving tiny footstamps
like children's prints in the sand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem