so long to believe that you have
seen it all, there is always more
behind the window that isn’t so
easily seen, the glass is always
beautiful you say when the sun
dances down on soft feet and
hits the panes just right, you
see yourself but not the boxes
and old picture frames behind
it all the luggage waiting to be
packed the typed up letter on
the bed stand sealed with a dry kiss.
it was love but love is glass
that hides and breaks with a single
glance if glanced at wrongly
you must look quickly hold with
gloved hands what you have, one
day you might open your own
shutters and she will see and think
she understands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem