This Year... Poem by MARINA GIPPS
This Year...
In heaven there are no roads,
Only clouds we drift through with light feet,
And the years are shorter too
with no more counting of days.
And there are no poisonous plants to keep the flowering ones from growing.
And no colorless animals that are easy to taxidermy.
Only the white blanket that is neither snow nor confusion
Nor cold…
This warmth that rushes down my limbs. I sense
What I must drink.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/4/2024 4:32:55 PM # 1.0.0.1119
