a longing was in the branches
of the departed path
touched with glimpses of flowers,
cherished steps dividing the day.
what ghost once had eyes
what hand caught hold of love-
holding it like a rare bird dying,
hastening to its end.
nobody notices now
what lies at the foot of the trail-
how nothing is there
instead of fullness.
And this one is so powerful and pays loving tribute to infinite numbers. It is worth reading over and over again and brings such a power. What a wonderful style
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
sad and vey mysterious and as always in your unique voice and subtle stylings