Disturbing, dream-like
Moments pitch arid summer
With the icy white
Of winter. Spring is strangled:
Aborted blossoms
Are now carcasses. Dried blood
Clings leech like to
Hundreds of bone dry, twisted
Black branches. Over
These trees, imagined terrors
Glide by like a hawk
Passing with a slow flapping
Of wings. Yet a light
So small and peculiar
Glows in the forest
And seeps through these broken days.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem