Dream the wind over ancient bones
sounds of a woman as she moans
in tears that fall like weighted stones
through the ghost of a haunted night.
Hear the heart as it breaks in two
whose branches distil drops of dew.
Soft feathers fell and never flew
like a moth in the candlelight.
The moon withholds her silver tongue.
The stars are lit and highly strung.
A river's song is sweetly sung
in the folds of the mountain height.
Sometimes more than a waterwheel,
more than a backbone made of steel,
as proud as a queen made to kneel
beneath the blade about to smite.
Love is faulted for being born
whose roots are pulled, forever torn,
a rose that's pierced by its own thorn
in a garden of hate and spite.
Dream the wind with its heavy rain
whose tears fall like a water chain
where love and life were all in vain
like the host of a harvest mite.
Dream the wind like a sparrow's song
singing, 'Farewell. So long! So long! '
draped in fog like a white sarong
smudged with ashes that still benight.
She sank into a wishing well,
grasping for him and cursing hell.
Screaming she fell and fell and fell
into the black of blackest night.
Dream the wind with a tearful eye
whose gray lips blow in cold reply
whipping across a desert sky
in the palm of a dreary blight.
She shuffles through the sands of time
a tangled, twisted paradigm
tearing down walls that none can climb
with dark trumpets of andesite.
The world her whispers plainly hear
though the meaning remains unclear.
The dread drips in, the cold and fear
in the damp of the fading light.
Dream the wind with her tousled hair,
her hollowed eyes and skin so fair
sailing on ships set in the air
beneath a black moon beyond sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem