Not in here
the carbon field
Somewhere though
perhaps in mind
Upon a yielding
of the heart
A verticality
of trees
Roughly-hewn bark
Nature sculptured
She gnarled up my innards
creeping
at the crawlies
I render
COLD
And so my heart
and I became the air
of night
Wrought from pain
we yawn out!
borne of brutal evolution
As wind wrestled
‘gainst her pangs of death
Our paucity of stars
waned
Gave to waxing of the
white-yellow-silver-mellow
MOON
Smoothing out a path
along the satin black
And I was all
For I was air
And all of clear chill
Hung
Still
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem