I pass razor
between wood
and paint
I feel wind
blowing my
finger nails
to reveal what's
behind sheetrock
termite's house
but they left
I trace with my
finger; dried
I came late
wood eaten
I have to replace
to be hidden again
for sometime; maybe
some length of time
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I feel wind blowing my finger nails...very amazing drafting shared here definitely. Wise and wonderful.