Between the trees the
starshine night grows
to fill the air.
Between here and West,
the sun has left
its bare
touch.
Between here and death,
movement waits and
thoughts stare
at me.
Between myself and
the trees, dark and dreams
creep.
Alone,
the trees and I
feast on
time and sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem