Monday, June 9, 2014


My father had a gift for languages and could read
Books which never existed in their original language
Having always been translations. Such things happen
Perhaps more often than you think. Once in a while
I see a reflection, tense, concentrated, its eyes tight shut
Trying to call what it reflects into being. Why, I myself ---
No; let that alone. You never know who's listening
Waiting to run to the authorities, hoping they'll make him real.

No comments:

Post a Comment