Decentered on the edge of time,
Without any anchor or guide,
Myriad selves appear across
The globe. Each one adds to the discourse.
Each one surfs over the chaos.
Each one is born from profound loss.
Each one connects the seemingly
Unconnected via prophecy,
Poetry or art. Each one is busy
Cultivating small plots of land,
In ways that laymen understand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem