Leaving lonesome thought beneath coverlets of tomorrow's
promises.
Knowing only that I must always be on the side of another
direction, seeing realms scattering themselves across the
world in many sequences of mathematical formulas.
Numbers being exercised and taken into volumes of coded
messages where they will be kept safely for at least ninety-
nine years consecutively, without any means other than what
has been given to them.
Singly watching the most beautiful rhythm fall into the
progressions of tomorrow's melodies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem