On deciphering the meanings of life, of death, of loss, thoughts from the wilderness, translated…
Reciting to the lavenders, the violets, you’d, weighed the translations, the aromas together. Taking in the stanzas of Elizabeth Bishop, as well as the season of rain within your mind. You’re, grinding down a word, a punctuation mark, severing off the stanzas, at where it’s, most, merciful. Bishop is, in another world, just like you now, your hair’s, not completely, white yet. You’d, watched the world closely, hearing the calls from the stars, you are like a ball, rolling between various, signs, at the foot of the rhymes, you’d, planted down the lotuses. You’d, conversed with Bishop, about a piece of leaf, a petal of, flower. The night skies that spun around, on that pasture of the poetic stanzas and verses, as those tiny insects, ants, grasshoppers, busied themselves about their tiny days, among the grasses, the flowers too. You thought about, how to pass down the inherited dreams from the leaves. In the midnight hours, a heart underneath Orion, dropped right down, into the classrooms, with that butterfly, fluttering its wings, and the very next second, you too, flew, into, an alternative, world.
And so, this, is how someone remembers someone who’s already gone, with the verses, the narrator lost someone s/he loved, and, is reminded of the person everywhere s/he goes, and, all the narrator could do, is to, keep the individual s/he lost, in mind, to not allow her/him to, get away, so the narrator forgets her/him eventually.