In the crook of the arm
the skylight waves
sun dabbles the moon
settling a hazy ocean
mirages lay in the blur
while sight is chased away
deer race the wind
soft breeze in the night
twinkling eyes rest upon a cloud
Look, but really see. Look, but really be seen.
Noting the wild, hear the call
see the wind, be them all.
5/11/06
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem