i fine solace in darkness
listening to every sound
that nature has to offer
wind seeping thru window
tiny hiss barely audible
breathe, clasping eyelids
peeling paint from ceiling
shifting attic joints; creek
i keep quiet i lay down
feeling pressure on my back
watching fan blades turn
so slow counter clockwise
astray light from clock
seem to be so young sun
whispering beaming time
i fall asleep; am gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem