Waking from a tantalizing dream, touching mind and in-
tellect in the midst of music here at the Wagon Yard,
pleasing rhythms flowing into an interior waterfall.
Free falling into pools of poetry below, standing and
watching every line and word coming together, making
sense out of life.
Placing it all into verses of prose, capturing the
attention of everyone here, putting motions of rhythms
onto the backs of tempos.
Racing and rocking into the night air, unhindered by
other people, their ideas and attitudes, slipping side-
ways, back and forth.
Hoping the music never ends until we end up on edges of
our sunsetical shores, looking to heaven, wondering when
our time will become our endings at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem