There’s a stray of hair whipped free
by the wind
plays inattentive across your cheek
as your hands dance supple against
the calico and hemp
arranging with operative precision
like the sun gleam
against your alabaster cheek
golden in your eyes shining
With deliberate passion your hands
clip the multi colored cloth waving
like a message from a waning ship
as if you could just reach out and pluck
it from the waves like child’s play
You reach back tying the strands
back wrapping the errant pieces into a
careful knot tight each
belonging in its place
like ships sailing
flagging their unanswered calls
wanting and just out of reach
(1993)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem