Waking from a deep sleep to see a poem in my mind,
wanting to be written down, sometimes it happens
like that, a poem wants to be known no matter what.
Listening to it's rhythms, seeing them walking upon
ribbons of thought, tangling, rearranging and then
sorting them out.
Surviving this process turns ideas into poetry, leav-
ing behind problematical strings of impossibilities,
taking places in pools below a constant waterfall.
Flowing interiorly, spreading evenly across the energy
of an interior universe, allowing poems to be seen and
read throughout the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem