That makes me more colorful to others than I am.
You coat the empty hours, the failing tongue,
The fear of mediocrity and slipping youth.
You make me glamorous in the eyes of some.
They are convinced. Your admiration is their proof.
If you were not there to look at me
In that odd, peculiar way,
I'd be as invisible as a casual glance
That held no expression of what it might have said.
(1989)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem