as you go back to the paths of
your dreams
the grasses grow tall
on the bend
somewhere
i depart as breath
to my labyrinths of
regrets
if i find you
i must kiss you
if you like it still
if i don't i must
find back my hands
so i can still feel
my heart still beats
sounds
of life like a cicada
at high noon
extreme heat
but never burned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem