You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills and thrums,
or the silence after lightening before it says
its names- and then the clouds' wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone. Rain
will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,
long aisles- you never heard so deep a sound,
moss on rock, and years. You turn your head-
that's what the silence meant: you're not alone.
The whole wide world pours down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Each of us is a product of our own making, bound to be forever stuck experiencing the world. Purpose in that experience must be found, and all its unfolding situations and complications travel with us. So as long as there is sound in silence- foresight in sight- we will feel what is to be felt, and we will never truly be alone. One thinks to feel; what is there to know.