Good poetry is bravery in ink.
the audacity to exist without permission
–Yecheilyah Ysrayl, The PBS Blog
The cold winter settles in, cracks
my brittle porcelain skin, streaks
grey glitter into my hair, then
I meet you.
Your deep eyes open, a blue sea
surrounds me: I am taken in.
The water rushes over me, warm;
my fractured heart begins to thaw.
your smile in golden red, your face framed
in grizzly brown curls. I swoon.
You pray for me while with me, tears
God has collected 3,650 times before.
My lungs collapse in awe and wonder,
disbelief that you’re for real, expressed
in one word: Wow.
You ask for a translation.
I send you this poem.