Chapel Hill,1975
My hands remember your brightness
your face
graces the morning.
On a common ground,
a serpent curses wintry sun,
the fierce of heart rush to the skies;
My hands remember your brightness
your face
graces the morning.
The wind springs up on wax-wing light
Old loves rise
Merciless and unforgiving;
My hands remember your brightness
your face
graces the morning.
Ancient tears from the heart's great spaces,
the windy blood in song
on a clay harp sung,
My hands remember your brightness
Your face
graces the morning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A wonderful song, a sweet lovely ode that touched the heart.....................10