Out the window the stars stay
fixed in place, headlights
passing underneath-
I steer with one finger
towards the edge
to tempt
myself in the dark,
towards the left where I keep
looking,
Up to the night, past the
trees and artificial light-
Up to the only things
not moving.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful portrayal of infinite stillness, Ayn. Don