Now I may never see you again
I can think of no one else:
I wait on platforms, hair in the wind
But trains all leave the past
Like you, with not a word
And when at last I climb on board
My carriage is deserted.
I sit at Charing Cross
And read the news obituaries
To check that you're alive:
You are, but where on earth...?
The cooling April sky
Is cloudless to the jet-stream -
And I fear to know.
Passenger tide washes me home:
Saffron evening light
Shines through towers of glass.
Night will come to us both,
Food and drink and sleep:
I shall signal to you, if I can,
Over the ocean of dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poignant and touching. The last line perfection.