Riding down Lincoln Drive, drinking in the beauty
of Phoenix's mountains, running the fingers of my
mind gently across their surface, feelings being
soothed as I do so.
Soulful, pious, majestic, religiously standing
over our city, marking it with desert growth and
animals of God's distinction.
A praying monk kneeling on the edges of a steep
cliff, asking God's forgiveness for the horrible
mess humans have made of his earth.
(9: 33 a.m. - 12/11/08)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem