What you see comes from,
What you can't see.
The coarse and the fine
Reduced to time.
As we move forward,
We blast photons through shells,
Then we bounce 'em off a nuclear mirror,
To the sound of church bells.
Then we reflect; we re- gather; we re-radiate,
Where high math proves it's never too late,
Bouncing off the mirror is a dazzling sight,
As we return to the source of the light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem