Breezes blowing into the east,
giving me dreams of beautiful
landscapes of interior spaces.
Just languidly walking through
them, seeing sights that no one
else can see.
Transposing images as they
saunter to rhythms of slowened
remorse.
Sending messages into the
atmosphere to be held for a
while and then tenderly being
let go to wander wayward shores
of eternity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem