coconut pulp snow spots on the brown wilted meadow
as feet soak in the chestnut boots sinking in the onyx soil
I listen for the rosewood calls of the red-winged blackbirds
whispering sunshine sonnets to the plumage mates
screeching of the topaz saucer eyed owls prowling from the oaks
fluttering of the raspberry popsicle songbirds painting the sky
I peer for the paw prints in the terracotta mud
trails of the sangria blooded mammals lifted from the hibernation
the egg yolk sun falls in the amethyst dusk grave
as the snickerdoodle moon sails beyond the cupola silhouette
but winter razors on olive forearm skin scream in my ivory skull
'the ash frostbite has not faded, yet'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem