Leaf the edges
of gold tipped
pages
and dip
your wounded
fingertips
in the centers
of van Gogh
painted
sunflowers.
Then lick
the blue purple
shadows
of the wounds
and paste them
on the inside
covers
of the chapbook
you write.
It is about
the bifurcated
road
you take
in the blind
with immortal
souls
and
discover
a brightly
illuminated
paradise.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem