A deck on the table.
Seven rows.
Knights. Kings. Queens.
Hearts. Clovers. Spades.
Laying chances
On two questioning hands
Unraveling mysteries.
Thoughts running about
The facial lineage:
Blacks on reds,
Reds on blacks,
Too deep to comprehend.
May a form comes out
Instead of the spontaneity
Of numbers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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