I'm a firework
I'm gunpowder
shoot me into unknowns
haven't I also fallen?
I try hard not to run out of inertia.
And, catapult back
give me: your servant-
honest to goodness guidance.
Lunch me: not as
a black hollowed-out tube,
but a growing tree.
Humble in the wind
like a green willow.
Here my climb shall be slow.
My decent, even slower
and, together, there'll be
a canopy not of smoke -
& mirrors, but of limbs,
boughs as wide as heaven
tall as ancient church spires'
that'll catch, even you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem