Can we be excused from thinking
the past is here and always linking
to a dark and unlit future
of which we have no inkling;
permission to be free
is ever present now
if we could but only see;
that as the embers fly
and make a bright line in the eye
it is just one point of fire
its motion deceiving both you and I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem