There is no translation for this content

There is no translation for this content.
There is no word to represent the feeling
that I get when I am with my beloved.
There is no figure that can hope to express
the mystery that I have found within her
movement among the secrets of the trees.
There is no language that can apprehend
her ridiculous grammar between the pages
of a forgotten illumined manuscript.
There is no cycle of sonnets that exhausts
the love I feel between the breaths I take,
or in the rolling fields of fragrant flowers.
But despite these inadequate artifacts,
nothing seems more present than her being.