I published my first book of poetry while in a cemetery;
On random stones, I positioned some leaves
with tears or drops of blood
Above every word included in my writing-
And then trailed wilted flowers diligently,
like dangling prepositions-
To show the many paths my lines would travel:
My leather may have worn thin, but the stories
Written there in dust and bone
will endure forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
someone else loves graveyards... love the imagery and passion here!