a cautious journey
of your fingers begins
as they stumble
through the heat
and your hand chases
mine
through a bright
desert of castle ramparts
and tickles the sand
sleepwalking
through the sunlight
echoing off
the chrome
of my father's car
(autumn 2005)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Fine imagery here, ...tickles the sand/sleepwalking/through the sunlight/echoing off/the chrome... cogent and consise. A well presented poem. Rgds, Ivan