Flowers not flowers... sky 
that is silver in color, 
not color nature, substance 
maybe silver space behind 
the flowers... looking 
back in at me from beyond 
whatever they are, or are not, 
through jaggedly shaped shadows 
cut out natural reliefs 
around them. But the shadow shapes 
there, I think are themselves 
leaves around the flowers. 
But then what I thought 
were flowers are not 
flowers. In fact really they
are all leaves... only leaves,  
and there is no sky in it. 
What's there in silver is 
an almost pure white mercury vapor 
out-spreading of light that lights 
on the special spots and places 
among and between the broken pieces 
of dark, I know now to be those others 
those leaves shadowed from that blue 
and silver light by the out in front 
more bright more white ones... all 
making a magic garden out of the several 
branches in a single tree seen through 
a tiny peep hole basement window,  
the only window across from my bed. Wait... 
in front of everything now straight lines, 
suspended... man's hand made phone wires, 
pay per views,  cable news, internet... power... 
electricity before the wildly free vision 
of one of God's great fingerprints 
I actually see 
for the first time now.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    