Taking in stride, errors of life as they adjust and tune outwardly, listening to music being composed within poetry as it is written.
Regulating places inside, taking steps to placate interior voices of ages past.
Allowing them to voice themselves in words, arranging everything to suit inner rhythms seldom if ever heard by anyone else.
Silencing parts of speech, putting them wherever I want to, singing mutely in my mind as they are situated indefinitely on pages of future books.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem