The depth of night
is the distance between two stars.
A trillion explosions
exploding a trillion times,
and the night is still so dark.
The light, barely visible anymore,
is blinding in beauty's remembrance.
Reaching out to touch the wonder,
I ache to BE touched, but
it's all such an ancient dream,
gone before consummation.
My hands return to me empty
and I feel the chill.
Yet, something extant, I see
falling all around me.
Silent,
like a meteor shower, it comes,
raining down.
Within the mystery of stillness, I am wrapped
by the hope of descending stardust.
I am touched after all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Smoky, Keep your hands to yourself, buster! ! ! And watch out for the 'stardust'. It's worse than 'Covid'; my mate would say: 'Anything is! '. bri : )