Listen,
Do not blame me
For letting the sun rise
On the wrong side of the moon.
Truly, I cannot tell my left from right-
I chart the world with light from a touch,
Confuse sunrise for lunch break.
Tell this,
I've never set the world aflame,
At least not of my own free will—
Though moths mistake my pulse for candlelight,
And burn their paper wings against my throat.
I'll let the silence gnaw my bones to dust
Before I claim to know which way is home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem