The embers smolder
In an ocher flourish.
I have long heaved like
The sea after the wind,
Like the ashes after
An incendiary wrath,
Like vessels that hover
Over the marred empires
Of the heavens.
But sometimes the roots
Moor themselves to quintessence,
And the once vulnerable
Bodies brace for defense,
For consummation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem