Everything comfortable except your guts
Way inside these missive canyons
Purple authenticity
All these minions of antiques
Dappled by a need for purity
Her blood is pensive fire
The mirror shows a sea
Your hands of spring
Calmed by a small world
I can change so little
Stair way winds like a game
Trees and rivers
Clouds with fractal mystery
Blue gratitude
What lasts is the resurrection
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem