Friends I’ll never meet
They put tears in my eyes
Canvass without an easel
Streets moving with old prejudice
The bass comes too late
Rudiments of captured night
Colors barren of resolution
Resolution is a corner not a crowd
The true circle files in slowly
Broken circle like the twenty-seven club
A hand strengthened me in the night
And the light won… thank you!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem