Root this weed hot sweaty suns back
shallow breath much strength wanes.
Son of a son of an old weed harvest or
lieges crafty sight when sun agrees.
Pipes drink all of waters vintage on horizon
Hills many steps meander paths of goats.
Twilight salt clings snugly to bodies pits
Salvation rivers in small stream I bath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refreshing(no pun intended) slice of poetics...fine detail & deeply rooted mind's-eye imaging highlight this well constructed, couplet-styled work. FjR '09