in the iris of another person's
mind, there is this rainbow in our hair
the days shimmering in multicolors of
rain and dew and ponds and trickles,
the kaleidoscope of moments
arrive once in pavonine doors
aspearly gates begin to open
prismatic in a sense mistaken
as a margaritaceous kind of drink.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem