Believe in me. Or trust in me
to mimic casualty, or the correlation
of vantage points between you and I.
Long roads traveled, the imagination
of a man who ran wild. Or the capacity
of casual moments, yours or mine.
Or would we trench ourselves implicit,
without qualification or question.
Would we merely underlie what traveled
with us or was left behind.
The absolute paradox of having knowledge
in our lives. Without absolute proof
of what intentions we mean to survive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem