Rusting railroad bridges
over wooded streams
-the seldom traveled junctions
of solidity and dreams.
I like discovering new ones
but rarely visit where
rusting railroad bridges
hang in summer air.
I resort to bridges
suspended in my mind
over waters rich in mystery
beneath the railway line
the line which runs from bluff to bluff
through treetops clad in green
tying air to earth to water
and seen to the unseen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
PD, It made me feel at home. I will be reading more.