You can fold it
like simplicity, you can
tear it up
you can leave it blank
and let it smoulder
in the stove
you can see it go up
in the smoke of the ultimately
ultimate
sweep
you can feel it,
like ash strewn to a windy
distant layer of dust,
becoming particles
for a poem
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem