That leaf is
worth your study on a star-pocked
night beneath
limbs
whose veins shoot
through unscaled sight.
Through them
you summon up your lives
floating through to a summer’s deep.
Some, bathed in outer dusk, crisscross
skies
as though surnames perforated
in blood, a milky talc,
puff of nothing.
Each branches
to make a past, crossing
over in a present that unfolds
vibrations of blue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Gorgeous, Richard! ever examine a leaf under a microscope? So intricate. good to see you ~! sjg