An Artists’ Baptism
Fanning the pages
The fresh, unblemished smell
To a ream of blank paper;
Or a primed, white-washed,
Mounted canvas.
The sculptor’s delivery
In a square block of Venetian marble.
Or a freshly, fallen snow
Just before your child’s first foot fall.
All are perrenials in Baptism:
To wash away our wrongs,
And attempt, again, to start anew…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem