Railways Detachments
I'm recalling detachments,
though or so,
strayed distances
old distinctive,
railways,
faces and people's,
cognizant faces
and contusions,
when blurring,
sets a poem in me,
Ionce was a photographer,
and younger versions as itself,
passion as,
my drawn world
artist's commission,
Abruptly,
we're recollections,
and bursts of nostalgia,
beauty as innocence,
we lost for away,
alone in those,
constancy's
undressing,
these ancient
rituals of memories,
sent by lust's
invitations,
ghostlyapparition's
as smoke's vanishing,
in thin air,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem