Galloping into the desert on my black stallion, Ghost,
soaring like the wind, heading into clouds of dust now
blowing everywhere.
Turning directly behind it so as to find my way, letting
Ghost move like lightening, taking me toward the sunshine
and away from the blackness of an ebony night.
Crossing boundaries into precious stances of life, assess-
ing it's qualities and preciousness in the wake of al that
lies in recesses of a backwoods delineation.
Awaiting decisions that are slow to come forth and be made
known, getting impatient, wanting to move on without get-
ing recognized.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem