Riding into the sunrise, following whims of imagination into the desert where I feel at home most often.
Stirring, writing, and being, amid many thoughts gangling up inside my mind, throwing me into the melee of ideas, guarding myself protectively from earthly woes knocking on my door toward unhappiness of yesterday.
Slamming the door of my mind against it all, I return to the memories of joy I so much treasure here inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem