On a Cafe Window
The flowers reach for their reflections.
A potted plant floats in the air as car
after car runs through it without moving
a petal. A building’s slanting shadow
cuts the road in halves. As I look again
the flowers are not reaching for anything.
A volume of my favorite poet
occupies the left-turn lane.
Car after car have stopped and are waiting;
No light changes. Was all the motion imagined?
Translations from the English 
Wonderful, Jeff! A new favorite!
(Tranströmer would like this one, too 😉
Ah, you saw the book…
Hmm. Transtromer in the left-turn lane. Somehow seems appropriate.
Absolutely.
I love this … You’re making me see the world magically at the moment! 🙂
Thanks AWF!
🙂
Transtromer: more than meets the eye. And there’s more than meets the eye in your poem, too, Jeff.
Thank you, sir!