This thing that's been
writing poetry for me
through me with me
alongside
the little hearts of rain
never spoke of water
this things that's been
wrestling with the clouds for me
around me against me
alongside
the whitedust washed
in each atom of thought
this thing that's been
it's never been
anything through me
still nothing but me
though it never really
spoke
this thing that's been sung
it's never been the song
but the sandslide of silence
will you now
lend it a hand
full of me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem