In this sorting out period we connect to the other soul,
In this sorting out of the soul we recollect in the heat.
How can your powers of description be championed by
Elements of wilder distinctions? Of weirder disruptions?
True speech lay in the boulders lying on the rocky islands,
Sudden acts bespoke from the heart, a congress of ideas.
This month connects to the other side of the creation,
Underneath the tables of heights and widths, the chairs
Of happiness, the furniture of our offspring, the wooden
Baskets will fly into cinders when heat enters the copse.
My elements consider their axioms, my health deteriorates
With age, and scripture has forbidden my strong questions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem