Tenderness

Tenderness

Tenderness
Proud
Purity
Just yet
About artlesness
I got used to
From a Walk
Sunrise
Sunflower
Early Evening

He goes home.
In the quiet hall
you do not reach out your arms, hot,
the long honeyed dress
sadly pours down you;
into the room falls
a bright scent,
the cups are clean, cool
the table, in a moment
you are not clear: did he leave,
or did you miss each other?

Translated by James Naughton
(From: Sunflower, 1998)

AuthorViera Prokešová
2018-08-21T17:22:53+00:00 September 8th, 2010|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 74|0 Comments