California is a tragic country––
like Palestine, like every Promised Land,
but if you should go there to plant just one tree
you may produce rich topsoil from the sand,
for trees can turn it to the richest humus
in ways that aren’t mysterious or magic.
With trees instead of bullets lands of promise
transform to treasure tracts that had seemed tragic.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem