My horse kept me going a while.
After that, my stomach as empty as my napsack
kept me wandering.
Morning comes on the snow and sand, a dirty mixture.
Behind, my barefoot prints left right by icicle toes
dissolve beneathe them.
The deep bruise of night,
and shallow waters:
what else can be more clear?
The smoldering leftovers by some miracle
have beaten the snow.
And prophecy the first embers of this day.
Gods visible breaths move in from the East.
First it kisses its forsaken sun, then,
like a candle trap
shuts it out.
Praise be to G-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem