The wall clock has stopped moving,
it is showing eight o'clock,
I know it isn't.
By not moving
the clock is creating in my mind
a sense of movement -
that it isn't moving.
Yet it exists.
My mother
no more -
absence makes a new presence.
She moves.
She exists.
She does exist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem