Some poems would not be written at all.
They are dust.
They would be deposited layer by layer
On selves, on books, on cordless tambourine
On one-ear rejected horse doll,
On useless canvass, on old photograph
On the floor of a locked house.
They would be deposited
On the leaves of trees, on thatches
On the glasses of break-down cars.
Sweeping can't restrain from deposition.
Raining can't restrain from deposition.
Non-written poem-dust
would be deposited layer by layer, bit by bit.
Sometimes Every sky would be
Overcast with the dust of poems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem