Donald Traxler's Poetry

Monday, April 19, 2021

To those within the sound of my voice,

to those within the reach of my embrace,

I say, here we are, let us make use of this

shared time and space.

Let us make more than memories,

let us work miracles,

and let us discover

new suns.

To those beyond the arc of my arm

I say much the same,

and I say it in all the tongues

of earth and heaven.

Together, let us do

these simple things.

ᎢᏧᎴ, ᎢᏧᎳ ᎪᏢᏚ

ᎯᎠ ᏄᏦᏍᏛᎾ ᎢᏳᏍᏗᏗᏁ.

Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with perfumes,

I breathe the fragrance of myself and know it and like it,

The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.

The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is odorless,

It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,

I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,

I am mad for it to be in contact with me.