In the beginning there were cold rocks with
painted animals that chose which way you'd run
toward or away from tomorrow's undoing
in search of what the present can't find
looking into the future with blind refusal
at the corner of time and space
taking back what forgiveness wouldn't share
heating each rock until the images dance
—warming the night of a thousand dreams
—warming the night of a thousand dreams
(Dreamsleep: February,2021)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem