Inside us:
The crepuscular garden.
Death and life
Continue to multiply, to grow.
Years made of evening.
We return home
To the earth we've never left:
The garden. The body.
Hours of helpless eyes.
We close our gaze
But time still seeps in.
Evening made of small mercies.
We become
A witness of our life,
No longer a judge.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem