at this hour whenever i
look at the shadows of the mountains
the way the fog covers the tree
like a blanket to my body
as i begin to speak to myself like the way
the wind speaks to the ears of the skies
i must admit it is you that i am thinking of
the one that i always hear in my chosen silence
you are like the dream that children tell
to their moms after they wake up from their sleep
no one hears me except these goats.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem