Not knowing what to do, just believing in the essence of
life as I listen and write.
Such a plethora of rhythms circling around, gathering me
into their circumferences.
Loving being a part of a universal atmosphere even though
sitting in the midst of a bunch of friends here at the
Wagon Yard, writing.
Soliloquys racing around this mind, heading right into
the catacombs of intellect, hiding there until being
written into a poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem