Colors of sound grasping onto measures filled with tantalizing
chords, beatitudes of spiritual times now lying hidden in the
graves with those who have found their endings.
No longer relevant on earth, sharing the essence of another
space in heaven, always giving us an intense sense of some-
thing more yet to come.
Before coming full circle, walking upon our sunsetical
shores for the last time, turning our heads the other way
and dying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem