Supposing, on a range
the gist of swarming gusts
enslaved a single, morbid cuff.
And these stars
are arranged
in such a way that
it makes you forget.
In the east with broken highways,
caverns dose impatiently like
a riddled, simple minister with
sinister crumbling minerals.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem