The white will yield its flaws in ruthless time—
Banks of snow will bead red with bright berries,
Burgundy of buck's blood dragged by hunters.
Memory bends violet to smoky wine,
Revives the fall and swell of distant seas,
Craves soft green of cut grass and calm harbors.
Noon spills light in spring's pine forests.
Summer's blond light receives hues in church windows.
Rain rinses dust from autumn's olives.
Orange is a slow song of insects and rusts—
Scratches of light, gold carp in pale shallows,
Blue roar of oceans, chocolate of blown leaves.
Memory bends violet to smoky wine.
The white will yield its flaws in ruthless time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem