they looked at me through
a mist of curiosity and kind nature
there is no abundance.
only enough,
that in itself…is a pinnacle
there is no finite nature
or concave octaves
nor certainty
but there is the wind
and angel clouds
appearing in pressing west winds
as if placed by hand
the old growth was…
the giants yawned
and stepped right in my path,
I know it.
alls fine at Hollywood and
tangled vine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I enjoyeyour poem. Thank you for sharing.