How can I write and not be true
to the rhythms welling within?
How can the ocean not be blue,
not rock with the clockwork shock of tide,
the motion creation stirs within?
How shall I know, or soon decide
if rhythm has meaning, if heartbeats ring true?
Should I lie like impostors, elide?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem