I want to die
in the winter,
—when it's cold
With the reality
of being alive, stronger,
—than all fantasy of being
Where branches
break crisply,
—like a soul in decision
And the wind carrying away
on its distance,
—all strength and pain
I want to die
in the winter,
—when its cold
(Chicago Illinois: July,1977)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem