In dark circles. You
were the target Plato sits at the
door. Socrates starts drinking hemlock.
The pain of orbiting was
very deep. The jasmine smell won't go.
The Ghost's steps were afraid to move.
No bell to ring. In
crystals I catch the red lips of
moon. The blue berries become sweet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem