Look at the serpentine prowess
As it encroaches half of your hills
And your honeysuckle portico.
And you go from painting the twilight
With an ocher palette - the insignia of your opus
Lurches through the patient hills.
I can hear the laughter of the mountains
And the trepidation of the torrential sea
As the sparrows divide the boundless sky.
I am coming home to you
As you wait for me alone in your room
Where I clamber over your window like a subtle nocturne
You finish your lacquer and paint the symmetries
The borders and your crystal shards;
Your weight is cushioned to the streets clad with petrichor.
Love, in here you are far away
Your visages are belittled in the distant howl
A far-cry of my soul fluttering in the Mediterranean.
You live in the enigmas and the ornate forests.
I will look for your signal fires; I will brave
The beguiling forests as the terse wind bawls agog.
And when I find you there, love
Seated at the cynosure of the enigma
I will solder you to my soul - we're going home.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem