I wondered if rocks would shift,
letting the dam go free
The water icy;
a chill I could feel right down to my brittle bones
I could throw rocks
and skim the water,
or wash my tainted hands
but instead I reside on a bank -
cold wind cutting at my face
My toes making ripples in shallow pools
detached from lakes so dirty
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem