As we hit
the coast
the landscape
encompassing New York
gradually unfolds
as if we were looking
into a living atlas
each indention
outlined in ice
each feature
dusted with a fine castor sugar
of snow
the sea eating the shore
the plane's shadow
like a large shark
cutting through
the waves
biting the shore before
becoming a large bird
clutching a house
in its beak
now like the shadow
of death
approaching and departing
the living
humans
so minute
swarming like ants
as if their world
was the only world
there is.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I liked this poem Donall but this line particularly - 'each feature dusted with a fine castor sugar '- caught my attention Ruthie: O)