Like butterfly’s wings,
I cannot be touched.
For skin against skin
and overwhelming brush
is all feathers and lead,
soft and yet black.
My inability to shed
the weight on my back
shows after all last year’s fuss
lingered feelings still flow-
now I ask:
did you notice the dust
I left on your clothes?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem