What do you think of,
as cotton balls that are held up high,
covering the parts of blue and sometimes hiding the light?
'beautiful of such work' i say,
well crafted but no popsicle sticks or glue,
just eyes and stillness...
Outspoken many times,
defining as nothing of what you can do,
but to render your attention up and under the skying blue.
Never a surprise but always a stun,
a day without a change but always an highlight,
with regards of flowing pure above my head.
exchanging brows from slanted to roofs,
exposing the wows through glazing eyes,
wanting to glide with and one,
wishing from this one tooth.
Countless meanings from behind every line,
that draws with no boundaries.
Like the open of heaven's gate thrashing,
and grappling eyeballs through car windows, with
the wrinkles of lines on our forehead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem