Poetry in translation: Anais knits time

And the old clock in the kitchen stands still now.Always quarter to seven.The warm knitted stitches in autumn days forming, one by one,a warm colourful scarf.For friends, for herself, knitted in is the quiet, lost timein this house. Quiet hours, gone and forgotten.Like tassels of her imagination, the same.Each carefully knitted stitch is a meditation, … Continue reading Poetry in translation: Anais knits time