At the dull hours of leaving,
when white light
imbues all that you see,
when beingness breaks into longing
and matter makes a million goodbyes,
each a sweet blade
for your bleeding rosary,
it is then loss is bearable.
Parting is like having a thousand suns
bursting out in plain pieces of dry wood,
conceding is to the swell in that light
with each breath of air.
Cause has no other origin,
effect is what you are.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem