It is cut out of pink,
vain, marble'above
drained to a sea,
below,
it's rim is truely laboured.
over in it's Life,
appears in heat at night,
static in it's flash, is grinding
rocks, cooled by heavy wet
breath,
soaked in waves, foams flame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very unlike you to write about something so pure most would say it was a fantacy