Maria`s little house, far from a shed of prayer,
a doll`s house, small roof clean
and bricked, aped from a farmhouse.
A chapel on a Summer carpet, that
saves time for the corn, the diesel-pulse
of a tractor, heavy boots before
wrought-iron.Only the small blue flowers
in a jam jar are wilted, the crops
too young to learn, the day
resurrected as the Sky gets older.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem