✧

Amb. Diana Mehmeti

You are not here to wake me from centuries-long slumber,
just move your finger a little,
touch me a little with your hand.

To grow me branches and leaves like the mulberry in the yard,
to keep me all to yourself
tight in your chest.

You are not here and night plays,
often sleep betrays my eye,
my poor eye suffers for you,
flutters like dove wings.

You are not here with the moon,
a tear drop when it finds me,
together let’s wait for Monday,
let’s make our hearts a lake.

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