They who are hidden, from afar
can hear
what no one else hears.
For longings larger than grief
theirs are wings softer than fur
sight boundless as belief.
They sit in the sunlight of stars
till a sound’s shape appears.
Then, in the spark of an eye,
seize the shape, take it apart
only to find grief’s tiny cries lie
in the tree-hollow dark of the heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem