The garden is in the recluse, not the other way around.
You rivers and mountains pale against the heights and gorges
She must climb. I am the hand in her mind where thought gets tough.
I am the step suddenly appearing. In the calm harvest fields I know
I have often been missing, off on the mountain’s other side.
But in the slow running river my boat is not far away,
she’ll call a breeze to fetch me faster than words paddle. Here in her
garden, I’ll meet the better me, nodding as I pass on my way to her.
“Here in her garden, I’ll meet the better me, nodding as I pass on my way to her.”
Just beautiful, Jeff.
Thanks. You know how some of those nights are. Tonight it’s half a foot of snow later.and a different story on the wind.
Though English is still a (very) foreign language to me, i perfectly understand your poetry. It touches me, it makes me smile and nod. Let me send a big thank you for all the wonderful poems you shared.
This is very gratifying to read your note, nandalya. You are truly making your own “translation from the English” when you read these poems, and I’m happy you enjoy the work!