Line
Was connecting the goat’s milk to bucket
Hands pushing the nipples, puffs or foam and bubbles
Fresh milk
And the line, broken, on and off
Line
Was old woman’s hand or other
Holding pants and the patch with needle and thread
Repairing
And the line, straight and curling
Line was not wake of plane
Lines were not parallel like the rail
Line was not dam or curb
Or the noose
Rappelling or gallows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem