How quick we move from labor nurses' hands,
wrapping us in a diaper, to taxidermists',
artfully arranging our limbs in the casket.....
What matters in this moment, this
one great blink of God's eye, *
is not what we own or've done
but the press of flesh upon our flesh;
the feeling; our Communion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem