Gone shouted echoed back empty
Here and there are voices contained.
Murmured gethsemanes
Hump my lungs to having
My murmered miracles
Mute.
My happy explanations merge.
Crack a yolk
Together with some salt.
Talk about dark gardens that
I cannot matter minutely.
Uncrack
As soon as we are able
And stable.
As old as some Gethsemane
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem