In the yellow field
in the red ruins
under soft feet
stones are pressed
down into the earth
to harden
to grow cold
to shiver
to shrink
from joy
from the only
miracle
left us
No trees will grow
nothing will creep
from the earth
to light up the
ancient sky
to love you in sunlit shallows
no limbs hanging
off the edge of the planet
stirring the matter
of love
no fingers will
taste the hot
running blood
of the stars
There is only staring now
air passing like a ship lost
by silent eyes
Only the the distant ocean
will feel us again
feel our hands
on its blue sleeve
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem