Trees outside are still
Yet follicles float gently
Searching for a thrill
In an endless romance
Until one meets it’s match
A patch of grass
Or
Your hand
Unless to glide for eternity
Past misty ocean sands
Where footsteps erase into tide
Or maybe
Drift upward
Toward some lonesome mountain range
Caught
Stuck
In the breeze
Far from the busy city streets of SoHo
Far from the multitudes
Far from me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sweet and beautiful morning it is.