(i)
Let a larkspur
blow into
its trumpet
to raise
a shooting
scotch heather
to touch
as sky's gems,
stars weaving
crystal rings
for fingers stroking
a cheek
carrying rivers
dumped
into phylum's
ditch, a tongue
wiping
off salt drawing
a sea's
belly into a face
in coats
of fossil clouds.
(ii)
The moon
burns brighter
into
a nebula full
of bush
and forest
and grasses
to ignite
a shooting
and
flowing
flame
for a world
of blackbirds
over
a swans
swelling into
dawn's
cream light.
(iii)
Let night
in a dawn's breath
be hurled into
a hollow
of itself, orchids
flashing out
sparks from
a bleaching
nimbus
cloud in specks
amid feathers
of a blackbird
in the nebula.
Let a star
spin the egret
on a pansy
to float
like the flashlight
of butterfly
into
a graphite dawn
not yet ripe
for the sun's crown
of daylight
exploding into
mid-day's bonfire,
when the gold
ball is still
settling
down to its yellow
hibiscus trumpet
to blast off
a brightness from
a comet's
wallowing tail.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem