Dear Incomprehension,
all our Sun goes nova
blossoms perform for eyes
conform trees toward affinities
for seasons
rooted they are
and remain in place
are places without
envy of motion they
even fall or parts do
which does not
surprise the sky
or dirt
all hurt seems born
to every option
seems to some how
know every plot
So let all
verb tenses confuse themselves
for seasons
the newly dead are come to ground
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem