We stretch our hands
toward the horizon,
where the sky folds itself
into the quiet sea.
Steps echo on empty paths,
each one heavier
than the last.
The air hums with questions,
but answers scatter like leaves.
What we seek
is neither here nor there,
only a flicker,
a shadow slipping
through the cracks of thought.
Still we move forward,
not knowing if the edge
is the end,
or the beginning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem