i rock back off it; while she tries too,
and those fingers keep slipping off.
it is beyond that now, beyond the face
of it into the mind of it even past a smile.
it is primordial like that the ooze around it.
and the sound, it is not just some flat plop,
or twap, it is more like the moist ouches.
remember when your foot was stuck in the mud,
and you pushed then pulled, untill it came off.
and then you sat in it and felt around in it
looking untill you did feel what lost was really like.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem