On the small geography of this page
I set lines into poetry.
No mere plant, this is a leafy
sunset created from
the bee’s imagination, pollen collected
to seed another sunrise.
And here? A handful of time snipped
from its sprawl over the earth,
grows pungent with the oil of memory,
a harvest still warm from the picking.
With perfume grown from dreams,
taste made from cultivation,
and companions of feeling and deed saved
by weedy decapitations, each word is
art composted to leave behind a
soil sweet, clean, and fertile for amazement.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Unbelievable. This is the best poem I've read here. Unique concise just the right words at the right time. -10