To love this flesh,
its rivers and valleys,
its fruits,
ripe or rotting.
To be conscious,
to understand a toad’s agony
or delight.
To finger the pricks of a bush,
lick the blood of the world
with a warm tongue,
and comprehend a crow’s hunger.
To breathe the spring air
full of laughing and weeping,
like a sow thistle
or lazy lizard.
To endure
without any sense of time—
to wake, sleep, live and die
under the same sun, moon and stars,
eternal as a weed.
To love the rhythm of this being,
like sperm swimming upstream
in one you love,
never questioning
or doubting the gods.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem