Feel you in the clearing, this presence
in the butterfly climbing up your white flanks
and the silent bells
This is no building
this is a breathing prescence
a bone rising from the secret ground
A relic from the maw the dark dull crack of war
of torn bodies and broken dreams
and what remains is silent whiteness
the bread and wine of holy spaces
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem