Should these hands
reveal my soul
and these humble words
express what's in my heart,
to escape the shackled prose
and return in the fluorescent
exoskeleton of a ground beetle,
high above the valley green below,
for the mountain above me now
is too high for these bones
to reach the summit,
only clouds and snow
gather in this place
where time stands still.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem