For all I know we were strewn across galaxies
and caught in the day's misty light
we are ghosts before we even know;
drifters of shedding tides.
Plugged into greasy machines that wheeze
for the wearing distance with which we burden them,
morning after wretched morning;
again and again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem