Monday, October 20, 2014
Dear dreamer of the pitched tent,
this side of the wind is blest.
The albatross of morning
careens above the mountains
streaming the news from the sea:
a new beacon has been lit.
A giddy climber cleanses
her bloody feet in a pool
where a waterfall has passed.
She dances on a high ledge.
Through her shaking veil of hair
blinks the silver of a star.
Above the 61st parallel, the colors of Autumn mark our parting with the bees, and the last days of real warmth. I had begun to transl...
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