God has always travelled alone —
like a pit pony with an ore cart & a torch
He travels down some lonesome highway.
All his colours congregate into one rainbow.
Leaving behind another Bible belt rich country
He takes one last peek through a window.
His misty breath steams up the pane
it's unclear-for-certain which way He is going
All we know for sure is. The world & we are following.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem