not just me
but we, we keep you going
riding on that train
the images meeting you
in a flash
of lightning
without the sound
of muscular thunder
the white wings
of solitude
heigtened in your haiku
the clouds of the
dry land
the rain trying to
make a new river
on that dry
bed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem