My golden arched feet
lay in the strong red baked clay
simmering sun.
I am fearless of being burned, and taken
from my silk skin. Nothing
Can remove me from my blue
terry towel. I don’t feel any hard
aching muscles as I lean my back
against a lion striped lawn chair;
I don’t worry about who I am
or what I could be
as gently my copper knees bend
and my hips become a slide
for the playful sun to tiptoe all over me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem