Under my gaze
Your stanzas writhe in
The steaming hot weather.
But it's between the lines
Like a Sahara mirage
Where true meaning resides.
And if your poem
Doesn't stir the sands
It is kissing a Muse of silica
Until I whip a quill
And dip it in the inkwell
Of the firmament
And daub secreting love
Feather to cloud
Cloud to feather
Revamping each
Into a marble butterfly
Or myself into a falcon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem