as there are too many
tiny little things
dripping from my hands
like sands,
like time seemingly
without end like a road
heading somewhere
and we are having no
gasoline
where can appreciation lie?
where can worship be found?
it is only when there is less
when time runs out
when there is no more food
and space is cut into pieces
that we learn,
and learn that well enough.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem