In every Monday
I write about the roads of the dry forest
a brown squirrel runs through the room
it stops near my desk smashes nuts
a white wolf with bright eyes sits on my scarf
from my heart gush a lot of ink planets
and cling to the antlers of the red deer
like a soap bubble full of life
everything while I still browse among thoughts of snow
In every Monday
I run barefoot in Hyde Park
I run and I run then I take over again and again
perhaps I will have much more luck in this life
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Elan well written