I know to seek falling water
or float in deep sleepy states
with crystal awareness,
my face tipped skyward to sunbeams,
mysterious balm,
kissing, healing
the tiniest wounds.
Naked, centered,
I interpret the language of roses;
bold, blood-red roses
rambling free round and round
my fountain feet.
All that I need is here.
see the companion pastel drawing here: http: //writingretreats.org/Journal/Journal_Four/mariem.htm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem