Your mocking arrogance,
breach-birthed of jealousy or a rattling soul,
cannot rip from me
sixty-one sensuous ellipses
of sunborn mirth and
and moonlight gloom;
of kith and kin
and love and loss;
of starling chatter and silent bonds;
of flowers bright and sweet and gone;
of rocks and lichen, moss and ferns;
of piano whispers and tin-can screams;
of rough-faced bark and fingered velvet;
of sweet-tongued honey and lemon tang;
of blissful birth and aching death;
of logic, precision, order, sense
and chaos, lateral thought and wild, fresh art;
of knives that feed or threaten throats;
of unwavering faith and fearful doubt;
of spring-, summer-, autumn- and winter-painted skies; .
I have a life and it’s rich and memorable,
happy, sad, warm and real.
And you?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem