I have spoken so long
and too much time
has been wasted
explaining so many
false intelligent things,
but some nights when
she looks at me like
a woman made certain
by gentleness, and lets
down her towel and
comes over
to the bed,
something still for
a short while
covers her, then
slowly, she lets it go,
the way the gold
petals folded off
the marigolds dropp beside
the cedar-wood flower-box.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You write lovely poetry. Beautiful imagery