One was of wood, the other was of gold,
On the pillows we rested until further collapse.
Seconds elapsed, my lap was complete, the race
Was won, and I needed a slap on the back.
I ought to tread on the atom of the victim,
I kind of entered a zone for the heralds,
As the custom was the bottom of the ocean.
I had to tilt and turn, swing and ring, little by little,
Until the autumn arrived, understanding a wall
Forming forcibly, hope returning wondrously,
Like the hulk and the item on display.
The whisper of the wide dark was in momentum,
I loved this ecosystem of sad strange people,
Turning and pointing towards a greater mystery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem