I see a spider weaves its tiny network in between the twigs in the garden.
And I thought If I am an insect,
Then I could have rush into your mesh
And swing until a twilight sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The moth to the flame, the insect to the web. You paint a compelling picture of self destruction. But that twilight sleep might bring you more surreal dreams. Take care. Warm regards, Sandra