Wonder and mystery magically doing somersaults in intellect
as rhythms play in depths of another dimension where feeling
specific notions appear to be moving in interior postures of
rhythms.
In the midst of a lengthy measure of what an innate talent
aspires to, nothing able to get inside without finding anything
to move wind bringing storms into the balance of an aroma of
tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem