…dreamt you took me
up a tiny lane
toward the scent of the salt marsh
toward the heart of the green ocean,
toward the orange peaks of the horizon,
onto your deck in the universe
one still starry night.
…felt your hand on mine,
your pink woman’s voice
Soothing lips
hand on the curve of your hip
releasing salmon’s spawning
in the wind,
arched backs,
seeking the other
echoing sighs.
Later,
little cries like a bird
opening space
like a new life,
like the untouched
green crocus shards
dawning announcing spring
through the somnambulant snow
sated lawn.
It was your voice,
your hand…your cries
in a dream, now forgotten, yet so true! ...
Hope dies each morning - who knows
what the earth pines for and gobbles up?
And what the spring roses of the moon
may bring?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem