Sun sitting mistily behind clouds,
trying to hide it with a mysterious voice of images.
Collecting all thoughts in nets of ingenuity,
not asking for anything in return.
Falling down into essential portals of time, letting
the answers of life fall away in tatters of poetry
left over from the ending of Buddy Stubbs bike week
bash.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem