I watch him stand, a silent hill he stands
Slow grace dressed in paling skin
He turns the oceans with his hands
Too slow are we to see.
Too slow are we to understand.
I leave this day to find a way
To find the words with which to say
To find the breath with which to pray
I’ll be back another day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem