passing..... a little euphemism for death,
mild or indirect words, we skirt the truth,
dead is dead but that's not you.
pen hits the paper freezing hand,
love is not and is or was
but you are a clown, your ghost smiles sick.
this impossibility is possibly not possible
the muse she slips past,
cannot look me in the eye,
so I cannot write of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem