morton salt girl crying in the rain
frailly under her umbrella,
with dry salt for tears.
you were supposed to season
my world
instead you preserved
my hearts wound fresh
with your course words.
salt....ash.....gravestone....
tombstone...
darkness of death
valleys of night
these are the foot printed
bones that form the ressurection
of my burdened lazarus returning to you
the right side of the bed
with my head imprint
still on the pillow
come closer she says
my morton salt girl
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem