Trees trace so
As ants in an anthill.
Just kids,
We swung buckets of choke cherries from our wrists.
The trees are passer-by’s;
Pedestrians.
Mercurial
Damp light filtering through
Flat orange moons
Against the velvet navy-blue sky.
The ongoing catastrophic files put away;
Bruised throughout.
While outside
A refrigerator floats silently against darkness
Soft amid sharp stars.
With all the ants to carry the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem