Someone has put their fingers
on my soul
has stroked the fibers of my being
and made them moan
a sad guitar that weeps
no, that is not the way it is
at all.
Firefly trapped in glass
I blink my morse code
messages, to no avail
as words cannot explain
the feelings that embed
themselves
in living as life is
not as one chooses
to imagine
it to be.
My shower is the runoff
from a glacier,
my food ambrosia
the gods themselves
would crave
my love a deep banked fire
awaiting breath
to make it flame,
I am not anxious,
am not seeking
I am open
for the moment
I look up
and see you there.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very nice. very nice. ~Sarah