built within our souls is
this sense for beauty
we have not met it yet
but we know when it comes
we sometimes try to be familiar
making it as cup to coffee
but to no avail
we erase what we write
many times over
and say, 'this is not yet
what it really is'
we go into a deep depression
wrecked like a boat to a storm
when it arrives finally
like a lover
we can't stay like posts
we dance. we jump with joy
and we tell the moon to go on drifting
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem