Archangels sitting above people, selecting calmness from the atmosphere, pulling it into gatherings of contemplative energy.
Saturating thoughts with an armistice of poetry situated in banks of brain cells, sending both ways into the night.
Retrieving ideas from depths of imagination, calculating how melodies will delve and outlast other modes of communication.
Sliding off into panasonic pictures, taken from a photographic mind, sitting back, watching every movement with an intense air of magic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem