the final scripture is silence
where poets delve for jewels of peace
a clay crown that might in eons hence
come to dazzle the ages
oh it is not yet written
it rests in a yellow field in autumn
it waits for stars to claim it
it comes of loam and wind and time
scripture is a voice from the forest
where waters move on rock
it is a tensile filament of aspiration
as touch gives way to sight and word
it knows the tenderness of a kiss
it praises spring and laughter
it is an animal but something more
the spirit seeking something to adore
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem