I could draw the trees
by your house I know them
and love them so well.
Where is my celestial epitome
when I begin to fail
at cognitive functions
and my fingers slip on my guitar,
and I make a horrible growling noise.
He too, must be drawing your trees.
So I believe in the astral plane,
and study etymology.
Go ahead then,
psychoanalyze me.
I have seen words that could have only
been invented when someone had
seen your face,
and the light under your skin,
somewhere.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem