the mouth of the spirit,
trembles before it speaks.
the hand of the soldier,
wipes crumbs from
the face of god.
forever tastes like strawberries,
and sometimes you...
and then is gone!
what we dont know how to
think, or how to say,
is spoken quite freely by
the trees in the night.
what we box up
and call god,
falls in the face of the wind.
what the wind knows, it gives!
we turn away, struck dumb!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem