For the love of leaping forward,
I am interrupted by no repetitions.
I cried today like a mound of earth and soil
Erupting from the ground by itself.
My options were clear, I had to realise
And this meant reading and writing.
I strode in bewilderment for a mile,
And half more happened to amaze me.
The twinkling running lights acted
Like cushions on my eye, and my other one.
Love of leaping backward decided
To be a love of wasting and bending
Rather like reading a bad book,
And lamenting to the ears of the eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem