As roses open without you seeing it,
a rose is a rose is, is suddenly knowing:
what was said repeats itself - missing something
is plural - keeps opening in the now
and you don't grasp how. You lie in the heart
and you wait and nothingness seeks you, nothingness
sleeps you to the light, continues to unfold
as it falls into itself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem