the smoke spread under the trees
from a certain burning firewood
on the house not far from where we talk
it spreads far
and this evening as i get too bored
we look at the hazy subject matter
as it moves farther to a certain visible distance
and despite the pollution
i imagine something more artful than this damage to my lungs
under the trees
the smog is beginning to shape itself
into a chine painting
of the dawn and its mist
like a poem written
by one of the poets that i love to read
Tu Fu, Li Po,
or was it Kulafu?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Li Po...yes, Tu Fu? ...i have doubts... but Kulafu? hahahahha you made laugh today Mr. Bastasa.