Lost
without a book
I journey
homeward
nonchalantly
reading the sky
translated into sunset
the poem
of a flock of crows
leaving one tree for another
(very similar)
& then back again
in another
second
raindrops
like sonnets
reciting themselves
over and over
with passion &
great conviction
writing themselves
on my reflection
as the window
holds me captive
& I learn
their literature
the language of
how things are
before books were.
I tell these things
to my self
as I fall asleep...fall asleep...fall asleep.
Dream...dream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'raindrops like sonnets, repeating themselves over and over....' perfection in a description if I ever saw it! Awesome writing, my friend...just awesome.