I told no one.
I cannot remember why. My heart
beating when I laid hands on a request
to, upon the brain of black ink, burn my secret.
This new hand of that
day was still as a mouse.
He got nothing out of me
to praise. The truth is in silence
My dear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked your ending … just right given what you have given/revealed to the reader …