As if I asked your
name, and an echo of me
answered
that you don't exist
and yet I still felt
like dying on your doorstep.
As if in the back of a cab
you weren't riding with me towards death
nor resting in my lap
your head,
lipstick glowing on your white face
and the blue of your eyes like a mirror
leaning across the night
or like a ship light asking for land
but passing by in the offing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem