Alone in a hallway, leading to interior catacombs,
searching for early writings of heaven and God.
Looking through each cell along the way, feeling
the intimate atmosphere of the past, crowding
around my mind.
A musty odor filling my nostrils, bringing me
backwards into a darkened enclosure.
Feeling around, touching stale maneuvers of
yesterday's monks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem