Openings in the woods leading to where
They are buried,
Beside the carriages of rattlesnakes- as the wildlife
Listens to sirens and tourists
Buying ice-cream- and angels lay across their
Canopies
Glowing like the wreaths of signal fires,
And yearning up to the mountains,
Searing,
Believing that they are the roof that the lesser
Animals must climb to peer across.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem