Time melts for sure you have seen
how Dali did it once tables float in air
hairs become rain and eyes
can be suns or moons in technicolor
skies like sweeping brooms made of
leafless branches of dead trees
in all these there is one horrible limitation
the soundless passing of images like
fog and mist and smoke and breaths
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem