Snake earthed and feathered
my chest full of curved fish bones
and a departing heart.
Let me be cut open with a stone
or lose my skin against a rock,
hang me under a storm
before widows.
I have been turned inside out
like a bedsheet; an empty bottle
full of stains; not able to be
spooned out.
I cannot give more than I have.
A matchstick man broken.
I cannot be killed more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem