they say nothing can live
in the frost-bound coldness
of december, but here,
unfolding despite this bitter air:
the fresh feel
of warm hands under mine.
the glass-edged leaves
beneath our feet melt into
liquid leather softness,
aware
of what grows here
in december.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is breathtaking Valerie. I must say you have an innate whimsical style. I love it. Keep it up. warmly, adrienne