Conversations (VII) — to the distance
Cicadas, deafening in the black oak.
But invisible. Turn the mind down:
It’s a late August still life.
Above the heart’s yard, all my chattering thoughts,
An invisible chorus, can’t travel the distance.
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Translations from the English 
Each time a read a new poem by you,
I am surprised. I’m glad to be alive in an era when Jeff Schwaner writies poetry.
Thank you.