I stand between the mountaintops-
back towards the rising sun;
focused ever on the dying day.
At the moment, my planet
has two suns. Molten hot.
One receding, chased
out of reach to my outstretched
fingertips. I'll trip
if I run faster. Any slower
and all is lost. I'm a valley-
caught in fourth place;
out of the medals.
The sunrise's suffocating
sweetness. Like candy sugar
on my tongue. Heart-shaped hands
against the breaking day;
i'm not looking
i'm not looking
i'm not looking
What you want is rarely
what you receive. What you get
is sometimes just enough.
The sunset will fall
in black curls
of cloudy dormament;
but the sunrise will fly
and become the day.
Carpe Diem
or all is lost
the fragile cloud cover-
eclipsing. To leave my ever
shivering form
to rest in valleyed dew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem