Artist
On glass
Soft Sand Dunes, brown
And fingers, her fingers
Run around
You see hair, flower; then is dog
Shapes change on, on and on
She's artist
After death
With the cells of skin
Of my corpse, and my heart, and my brain
I will form and make leaves
Long and round with the veins and the bones
Change of shapes and colors
I too will; be artist
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem