Deck it out with word-made eyes:
look how beautiful
while bringing forth the ding-dong day
and trembling as it melts
into ever-quickening light
pulsing above the army
of branches tangled in the night,
outlining wing-shaped sorrow
at blue on fire, burning, burning
more wildly and more brightly,
darting - into day’s ding-donging,
clear, as in eternity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your words create sounds-i like it.. is that what we call, onomatopeoia? (did i spell it right?) i always consider dawn a bridge, a connector, transition i like this poem.