A day of balmy, vast, blue, cloudless sky,
and I, a traveler, sitting in my car,
survey the world stretched out before my eye
with time to journey to where wishes are,
the power harnessed underneath my foot,
the highways winding anywhere I choose
to claim a dream, no matter how remote,
that springs forth from Imagination’s muse.
What destination’s worthy of my journey?
What object’s worth the effort of my quest?
Through what ideal embodiment of beauty
might I find satisfaction, and then rest?
Do such things live at all in time and space,
or reflect from some deep, interior place?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem