Time often returned bones,
details of a movement
which raised roses,
repeatedly,
our harshest prayers
(damp and frenzied beasts).
Was it an answer for the void?
wonders of a fine caliber?
We didn't know who spoke,
who, loving during our darkness,
brushed against the red cutting
of obscurity.
Translated by Amanda Horn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem