Scattering leaves of memories across yards of life,
drying out my mind with past images of parents,
collecting them into photo albums of yesterday's
conscious mind.
Feelings hurry to be notice before hiding again
beneath piles of leaves to be raked tomorrow with
fragility.
Sonorous echoes, delivering voices I long to hear
once again.
Awkwardly, running into piles, scattering them to
arid winds of reminiscence.
Standing back, watching as videos play subconsciously
over and over without repetition or replay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem