Silence faces the contours of a
somnolent east when winds from a
rising slope say their prayers in muffled
voices, through the raucous sounds of
rolling autumnal leaves, painted red and
orange by God’s apprentices here on this
fragile, rumbustious earth that pines away
when silence pulls its cloak up and yawns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem