finally hit Wyoming, dining within blue walls of sky
sharing livers with hunters of the innerspaces
as illustrated by wall-less plains and speckled streams...
latter-day icons,
not unduly proud of their blemishes,
at perilous peace with where water and time have carried them..knowing the poetry of it...
painted,
spoken and unspoken...
consuming the wild things with vigor and respect...
celebrating many last meals...
quietly boisterous...
reverently profane...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem