Plum crumb cake

I pluck from your face
a crumb of plum crumb cake.
A tiny press of tenderness.
Away from all ideas
I set it on the fine china of the page.
Let it be recorded forever.
It’s hard to tell when
a draft has blown everything away.
Someone opened a window. Someone
opened a door.
Years later
I still walk among the pastry shops.
It’s a shame I only think you up.
Even the night doesn’t realize…
when we are together.

(translated from Polish by Joanna Trzeciak)