Before it is donned it dons the ego,
tempting colors from the emotions. The silk
slips like hidden thoughts from the body,
even as it retains the fragrance of the skin,
allowing a history of its own to flourish:
names, faces, symbols, intentions, which
are unknown. Questions are in the stitches;
and in the beckoning, as it is seen and absorbed.
A world opened. A forest steeped in radical
assumptions. Goodness held darkness.
There is the sight of black, once its worn,
That makes darkness suddenly fashionable.
In the sense of it, a new sense approaches -
approaches from the heart of the apparel.
What can I do? Place my hands on the surface?
Or place your hands on my eager hands,
to be adorned, together, in night-soaked cloth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem