Side by side, back to back
a post placed here the next
one there.
The sun come mid day
is to hot over head
glistning wet are our cheeks
digging each hole
ten feet apart from the next.
Land this land our land
starts from within
our house when speaking comes first.
Even in concervation
it seems there is risk.
The love of my life brings
back each tomorrow anew.
Building each chicken coop
incircled in wire
more for their own than for ours
understanding is key and locks
fall away when to whom
are they spoken and how.
So I leave a few clusters of grapes
on the vine to dry as the sun
lingers how much longer
in the sky
than once it appeared ones youth
for each new lofty addittion
to the house we then added on.
And when one battles love
and the splitting fences
building out from the house
back onto the farm
it grows more distant when clear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem