Mars, on the other hand,
Is dessicated. It comes from
Beneath the soil there. Transluscence
Is its armour,
And thoughts & images pouring like rain
Another form of defense.
On gas giants, plentiful in nature,
It wafts in poison atmospheres
Unscathed. Among the floating
Predators. Untouched,
It will find us, soon,
And quickly lurk in the storms of dreams
It seeks. We, the dreaming
Denizens on the minor marbled planet,
On its foretold way to the grand alignment
of a tortured little
Galaxy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The planets, I enjoy hearing the way you speak of them. No one writes with metaphors as great as you, Stan.