Red crafts in outer space,
Or underneath the canopy of apple orchards:
The mountains looking on like
Overbearing mothers:
As the train whistles through the pass of
Travelers who no longer travel there anymore:
Windows without space-
Greenness and blueness without breath or wings,
Ribbons entwined in the tail of
A once pretty horse that is now little more
Than skin and bone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem