You came to me
dressed from cut out air
in freeze frames
and I thought the sky
was my giant umbrella
but then it twisted inside
started to cry
out that before my poem closes
louvered as concertina shelving
weather would gush nature to fold
grass blades over ants and my
hair to your fingers…
.. and I wondered....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sigh...every line captures me.