Collecting, thinking, binding, writing everything into
interior albums of photographic images, traveling along
with chords, notes and sounds of measured rhythms.
Stepping into trails traveled on horseback because they
are so far off the main track, insisting on taking steps
along the way, just to accumulate thoughts more rapidly.
Figuring them into coded messages to be interpreted some
other time in the future after I am gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem