Crisp yellow of the limes
against the sleek dark
of wet road, windblown
and muddy up close
as I collect them.
Today my shower
felt like ice melt
like the plunge pool
at the sauna filled with
cubes to shock the skin
from hot to cold;
no difference
in sensation;
just purely sensual
leaving skin newborn
like slick oiled silk.
Tonight the drip, drip, splat
of sodden leaves gives
a bass line to the
eldritch piping of the
whistlers out in force
and bows my nerves
like cello strings
stretched tight
Night swirls and struts,
the darkest velvet cloak
she owns flaring wide
to kill the light along the edges
of the world. A watered kingdom,
day drowned in greycloud darkness
mere glow of sun suggested
not strong enough to burn
right through the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem