In a while,
in a second
and rain is pouring down.
One expectation like an Alpine horn
and you hardly,
hardly
are alive.
With your little hollows you're listening
to the Labyrinth.
And I have no knowledge.
And I have no map.
But the long movement of moss on the skin
of obelisks.
The calm waters are unleashing into me
and the chestnuts are putting white candles on
(and the autumn is a palm) .
Wings, raising
upwards and
upwards...
I'm calling you by name.
Very beautiful, expectation with no knowledge or map to show the way, yet I am calling you by name. Expectation of hearing an answering reply, mystical and intriguing. Well written poem! Thank you for sharing. RoseAnn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
With your little hollows you're listening to the Labyrinth. chestnuts are putting white candles on Wings, beautiful and expressive, mystical in your own art. very nice poem. likes it very much. tony