Red stems, stripped bare, jut out
of hard black soil, like the rib cage
of an abandoned boat, keeled over,
on a cold beach. A roosting perch
for passing gulls, skua, tern-
in summer, hidden in a nest of leaves.
Like strong ideas, stripped to bare bones,
by harsh times,
they turn, face the screaming winds,
and sing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem