Till March saps spring,
Everything falls away,
all passes, except this
mysterious spiral I
am moving in. You can call here
winter if you will:
invisibility rules
as single leaves
in the wet woods begin disappearing,
losing all mass,
all weight,
all shape -
and the sky widens eyes
glimpsing
the nearest thing I'll see to infinity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem