Pierced the pine begins to weep,
it is hot
the thick sap wells up,
over the sides of the bark it it thick.
Over the year's,
the once small cut has grown open and wide.
She thinks I speak of her,
but only when we meet inside both world's.
Nine inch nails are sharp and long, again
the tear in time might hear.
I think we have all night that both can share
in the light that is there, the pale that's there
before the dawn.
The leaf turned inside out but one can see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem