bird that from
long distance
this day
flew
over the ocean vast
yet calm
till
seeing our land
you
from your traveling
arrow-like
on the first tree
rested
that was indeed
in Hastings Gardens
your mouth
half-open
your
breath
panting
your
light red tongue
in and out of
beak
panting
so
I
I Poet Seer
soup of
thoughts
too me out of house
but willing
in to the storm's nocturne
and
with you bird
panted
in the storm
in Hastings Gardens:
that I view
the beauty of the raw
storm raging
that I might
feel in me
the chill of a lone night
nocturne of perils.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem