And leave me a trail of innocence
To comfort me just a little as
I clamber over stones and fragments
Along the riverbed of every days creation
Of flesh and thinking
Of a warriors intentions
The sound of footsteps through thought
Of eventually sleeping
There is nothing whole ever
In dreaming
Just clouds and flowers passing by
The windows of our senses
Whole things are too easily cut into pieces
They bleed
And are washed away by the rain
I would rather float like a fallen petal
Along the rivers I make of your fingers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem