I wet my fingertip
raise it overhead
sensing direction
I circle then check
so fine, ball I let
sears an open space
turn around a peak
I grin that's perfect
enjoying softness of ground
thumbing numbers on my palm
telling where I am at rest
feeding my mind with secrets
that sometimes I am robotic
my mind is way beyond clouds
searching more for more doves
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem