Looking out the window here at the senior center,
watching the wind blow an ocotillo back and forth.
It's scratching leaves and branches of a tree,
filled with the greenness of springtime.
Keeping on looking, watching, eyes suddenly drawn
to depths of the tree itself.
There seeing a hole through it's limbs, opening up
to my vision is a tunnel through it.
Inviting my mind, entering and using imagination
to explain it's positive influence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem