She said it was a three hour time difference,
a nice view of the Mountains from her kitchen windows
one Palm tree just planted, and the desert air still cool.
Her words were clear and loud, smooth
Here, as I watched an Oak tree dispurse three colors.
'I am only a phone call or a plane flight away'
But I selfishly regreted friendship, remembering layers of comfort
like the memoirs of a past life, my history burning in agony
imagining the dizzying heat of the Arizona desert.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem