Truth has been bewildering light
this is going to occur again
and why or what spellings run
on a page,
but in a disguise
or we soon alienate to feel.
Self histories
are poignant, true and end to the last.
This morning I have two tasks
to create art and a poem
I just wish somebody brought
a cheesecake these winters.
Then it may or not go
with smoldering light filtering through
outside a whole sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem