Confused intuition.
Until upon it she strikes.
She comes awake because of the coming.
Talking in her sleep and of others.
And the lost Kana star.
Each silent step leads us on up,
into the spiraling arms of the Milky Way.
She is art and possessed of my characteristics.
And while prohibiting the tide for the future our passion,
tomorrow comes like the past of yesterday.
Energy she is.
The angel with wings among other things which none have.
You are the word,
where deeply I sleep and in the ocean you come from above.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem