In the stillness of the summer dusk
we drape ourselves around cushioned velvet
and lie, resting,
tired.
The rafters overhead arch upwards
like the roof of a church
and I feel our dreams hanging
high above us in the quiet air,
waiting,
floating to the shadowy ceiling.
Fluently, we converse in silence,
our souls drifting
like messengers of God on a mission
to awaken the world.
And in this room where we wait
there is a mirror in which
the rafters of our dreams are reflected –
in the grayness before the setting sun
we try to see ourselves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is the second one I've read from you Zoe and I'm still very, very impressed. Love that fluency line. Very fresh stuff.