I look upon the angry ice
and men that prowl its form
to stab and poke in rich delight
a chance to ride the storm
With blades on fire and sticks held high
they weave and crash as one
in search of that elusive net
—still guarded and unwon
(Dreamsleep: October,2021)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem