sleeping beyond sunrise
misses the moment
when the colors of citrus
fill the eastern sky
and the only defense
from knowing that we die
dwells in that dream only
the one we claim is real
the garden seems alive
the animals are stirring
stirring like white desire
softly calling Eve's touch
in darkness a rooster crows
so that the dew will fall
so men and trees and birds
can call hosanna to morning
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem