Then hold off, I pray,
the hours of death and sleep.
Do not prickle me yet with the torment
of needing voices and sickness.
Let this space and my body
be silent a while longer.
And this in particular -
please stay my hand
from paralysis swelling and cold
until I can burnish
to your liking and precise instruction
the words you have also granted me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem