Our lives are far better tensed here
for now instant of effort shows how
we waltz the wrestle of men
rather than rolling around
and ever more rolling around
on fear of the cut, on the edge,
on sheer brim, on the unsheathed nearness
of when.
The present's forever the fashion,
never weathered, not severed by then,
not the fretting-yet twisting tomorrow-
it's here, (where but here?)
tongue to dew, ever new
always now...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem