Sitting on metamorphic rock
listening to the American river
while watching flickering sunlight.
Hawks circle on thermals
over river,
and dragonflies skim water.
Sometimes once joints ache
move and adjust
try not to sit on
an abandoned indian site.
Bits of sand and mica
pretending to be gold from
some flood decades ago.
Then if not too blinded
by sunlight flickering
you might see
a trout snagging slow dragonflies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem