Translation

Translation of touch that reached your arms before becoming a wholeness turned into an absence. Like the blooms, those were last season and not now. The plants return to their ordinariness but different this time. As if they have been freed of expectations. And now they live a life that could have been called a burden if not for the possibility that still makes them wanted. And me, I want an old dream to rise from the navel of lostlessness. It is still beautiful. Like the straight confession of how deeply I love you. The moving sun slowly rakes light into the forest. The mist like a room closes its doors. As slowly as an interrogative that was once asked centuries ago and still returns in hopes to find a stunning answer. This moment is as if a bookmarked page of this life that bears the burden of words. Only a bridge that keeps joining two distant portions of land. Sometimes I call it holy and watch its generosity for what it keeps doing.