secluded campfire:
he watches as the cold and
the smoke shape the air
the grass bent back as
though holding her memory:
remembering steps
the inkening sky,
the night wind up from the sea
looking for someone
he reaches out his
arms like one just newly blind:
only emptiness
his hands the texture
of old weather - he wears his
shirt of aloneness -
suddenly, a slice
of moon; wild geese engrave the
silvered night sky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem