12: 01 p.m.
Picking and choosing, selecting notes from a guitar to
enter into poems that are being written.
Songs being sung with a perfect pitch in every note,
nothing flat nor sharp, a pleasure to listen to.
Corrective stances not needing to be exercised as this
poet writes and listens.
So energizing and peaceful, rhythms joining with this
mind, putting it to bed in the evening of heart's desires.
Folding together, keeping them rested for another moment
in tomorrow's bliss. 12: 02 p.m.
(10/25/14)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem