the sense of things is not a tale
not fictive poetry
with no one there to sense the thing
an atom reaches out for grace
and so abiding in that place
in quantum emptiness
the silent motion of the stars
fine tunes its mythic instrument
realities of secret worlds
minuscule and huge
endure past man's exhausted reach
into the dark and velvet void
unfathomed wells of time conceal
those final elements
beyond sensation and desire
ablaze with heat and sultry fire
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem