After the fiery leisure of the summer;
Through all the memories of whatever; but you,
The belief of your being; the cool shade among the severe nostalgia.
.
.
.
I have my eyes with you,
My hands but; from the first being of you, are to the God who is closer than the jugular vein.
& I'm writing to you, in the Fall...
Of my wanting you; which I assumed sin and now is all my belief!
Of your loneliness in this chaos,
Of me; who never reaches you,
Of the phenomenon, named '' the Fall ''.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem