Sit
...............
I was sitting
On some stone,
Near the opening
Of your path
I could see
A promontory, sprouting dark green walls,
Green pine needle stages (over
Blue jelly ripples) pointing at
flat orange,
Brown clouds swirling into
a circular funnel sucking into surface that’s
Yellow, sinking it into the blue water,
ending day.
Bruises shade ripples black, due to a
Sling-shot; bashing with the pail moon
Roping-and-tying,
drawing the tide in with you and me
ending our path.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem