Dangling Poem by Richard Bunch
Dangling
At the mercy of the wood warp
of indecision, between the famine
within and a compass without range,
I still dance in a sea penciled with despair
for I have learned to float
by not always trying to fly
with every dandelion self that gusts.
In this field of tenderness
like some classic gesture, I catch the moon
at its crossing and wait
for a tide steeped with the naming
of ecstasy.
In this field of tenderness like some classic gesture, I catch the moon Rachel Ann Butler
Very interesting, deep poem.... sensual.. a sense of anticipation of MORE? I like it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 11:19:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
'In this field of tenderness like some classic gesture, I catch the moon at its crossing and wait for a tide steeped with the naming of ecstasy. ' painfully beautiful words from you Pia