P.S. Cottier #7 (Let me be translated, loosely,...)

Let me be translated, loosely,
not lassoed into exactitude.
At the end, let me fly up and out,
and feel knots untied, united,
expanded; savouring forever
sublimation sublimated — sublimed.
Songs without the burden of words;
Babel fallen and ungrammared;
mere ecstasy without parole.

P.S. Cottier