to those who painted the incipient wave,
the last foretold-
instead of getting out of town
what prize can be given?
a deeper blue wash on a canvas, soft green;
the starfish descending?
the last gleam of the sky?
to those who persisted at the mouth of Floods,
what words are there?
only a pearl silence,
a floating pier; upended,
the peach parasols of
small children-
going by.
mary angela douglas 16 june 2014
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice lines and images.