Recording motions of rhythm to be recalled forever more through
a photographic memory, always at my beck and call.
Answering each moment of thought with another whim as it is
tossed about in atmosphere's of talent.
Situated alongside members of yesterday's group, together on
stages of energy, following steps provided in years past.
Sojournly choosing openings towards saddened rhythms, penetrating
even tears, falling into pools of dismal fortitude on torn
garments of old.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem