Ocotillo arms reaching out, scribbling in the wind invisibly
for poets to imagine what it is they're writing so intensely.
Secrets of life and nature kept under wraps until a poet re-
veals them in a silent and enticing poem.
It's tiny little leaves being used like erasers, not wanting
just anyone to see what's been written so delicately on air
currents of life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem