Vagaries of intent
lost in the storm
behind the long wall
where lie meets form,
in a fool’s dance of thought
both cold and warm,
traipsing through yesterday’s fertile
garden and most endearing curse.
Whatever happened to us then,
and that scrapbook of the perverse,
where backward went forward
and straight ahead reverse?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem