The arched cane bookshelf
stands by the peach rose
cutting shapes of simple beauty
in the corner of my
pale-green room
The wind rattles
windows
Hisses through
the chimney
The sun dreams
through shapes
Rectangles of books,
Curved plummet of chair legs
Reach of guitar neck
Vast, flat wall
One heavy volume
Lies on the cane bookshelf
Calf-binding
Gilt, black and red spine label
‘Diccionario de la Lengua Española.’
Within is the lacy thread
of old woven truth
Within is pure wonder
Pure beauty
Light
A million stories
of change
and influence,
Dusted with death
Glowing with life
The salt sting
of a word now made bland
Each page a cover
To lay over the hills
and walk upon
Day by day,
with crinkling steps
Each entry a thousand
sturdy thoughts
Smoky possibilities winding
out the window
resting upon
the silver-glass surface
of the ocean below.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem