sunsets aflame
dance
fiercest orange
yielding red
fists of clay
Indian brushes
blush
crimson
thunderstorms
paint
when rain
hammers
those
petaled arms
juniper
bullsnakes
wind-scarped
hills: these
faces too
fold
into silence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Richard - I have been there several times, and you describe it beautifully. Nice imagery. Linda