I am pale skin on a canvas of bone
painted in corners of tenets and time,
grafted to a frame of wood beams and stone
in a field of sage, lavender, and thyme.
My eyes are of skies of cornflower blue.
My waterfall hair is braided with light,
and lashes are tipped with glimmers of dew
distilled on the slopes of frangible height.
I lean into the curve of scripted lines,
pressed deep in the void of shadowed spirit,
and whisper in veins of tenebrous vines
hoping someday you will come to hear it.
A water bird glides in hypnotic splay.
I pray in a deeply abiding way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem