I find that I’m indulging in nature metaphors and similes.
For example: you are to me warm wind. At near-dusk in late August
On a Monday, when Nathan and I are leaving the library to go
Back to his house, when I have just read for the first time
Longfellow’s Burial of the Minnisink and feel it but don’t know it,
When all the world seems tired and quiet and still, you are the warm wind
That blows introspectively across my skin in the parking lot. You are
The warm wind that reminds me that life is not waiting to begin, that I am not
In prologue-mode.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your style is very interesting, Dave.