on his way to the
top of the hill
he traces the path
of slow circular
footage
like a way of
recalling a past
that so badly
hurts,
slowly rising along
the side
of the belly of
this mountain
like an ant or more
of this green turtle
or this dove
this fledgling
wannabe eagle
feeling so abandoned
but coping
saying i am my
best friend.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem