Clouds slowly, silently, cross the skyway of mind, bringing me to inner contemplation on another plain of interest deep within my subconsciousness.
Whispering breezes telling me to keep heart, things will work out.
They are already being placed juxtapositionly with God's grace and mercy.
Looking up, placing my mind upon brambles - thorns of an ocotillo.
Fingerprints of all the yesterdays have become what my future is.
Thankfully, gratefully, I place myself in nature's guiding plans of destiny.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem