The days pass
like shallow scars
healed before
their time
The hours drip
like warm blood
turning red with joy
on my shoes
The minutes cry
like returning birds
in song-lines
across the moon
The seconds swim
like small silver fish
with the sun
on their backs
The infinite wakes
like dark quanta
in the visibilities
of present things
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem