An Artists’ Baptism
Fanning the pages,
The fresh, unblemished smell
To a ream of blank paper.
.
A primed, white-washed,
Mounted canvas.
The sculptor’s arms wrapped
Around a square block of Venetian marble.
Or a fresh, fallen snow
Just as your child’s first foot fall.
All are Sacraments of Baptism:
To wash away our wrongs,
Like perennials, blooming again every year…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem