this poem of mine has been translated into Italian by an Italian language school for their poetry course.
I watch you softly gliding down, drained words
escape your mouth, rising mother-of-pearl
bubbles, I watch as behind glass, noting how
they are magnified in close-ups,
your hair floating, spun out like silk, woven
into fins and gills of past rushing fish,
your skin rippled loose around your breasts,
as if you were trying to shrug it off, shed it
dragonfly-like, ready to stretch and lift
into new shimmering layers. No more
a tearful lover, entangling arms and legs
with mine, no more struggling to escape,
now perfectly at ease underwater.
Sunlight blinks messages around you,
perhaps, that in order to find peace,
we must learn how to stop breathing.