While standing firmly after dark,
I gazed upon dogwood’s bark-
It’s body bent, coarse and gnarled,
Sleeping in the summer dust,
Just within man’s yearning touch.
My eyes were then swept higher still,
By some overtaking will,
To catch the leaves sharp whips and snarls
Shaken by yawps of silver wind
Twisting, bending, limb to limb.
In cooperation with this pattern,
My view was heightened like a ladder,
Which spanned out towards the clouds afar,
Bathing in white lunar liquid,
Dancing in a day relinquished.
And further still, beyond my view,
Illuminant auras and vacuums,
Inhabit space, where the stars,
Are born into their life apart-
Birth, Shining, Dimming, Dark-
Despite what we wish to believe,
Man doesn't own all that he sees
And what *is* isn’t always *ours*.
That night I left weary and worn-
Standing less firm than before.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem