Risings of water pour from the steaming lake,
lifting the blue clay rocks, inspiring them skyward.
A molten root of lime chords through the snow-capped light
And the stone temple has become so dressed with natures gift,
Ruined and abandoned, too divine, too full of dream,
Amid the lake a stalk like bird remains patiently,
He has evidently migrated timelessly,
as the gloaming fish cannot bring him home,
Not given up, just given,
perhaps he was never completely there,
as I am no longer
with you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem