Watching as memories walk away into a hazy morning
afternoon, taking with them good times in moments
of life.
Holding on carefully to the ones that are left,
hanging on rims of canyons, waiting to be remembered
and set in poetry.
Lasting visions, remaining for times spent in
loneliness at ends of lifetimes.
Standing silently as all things pass by me on their
way to other worlds in separate pastimes, while
holding onto life's perceptive motives.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem