my spine is a railroad track that your hands have traveled many times
my hair, a field that you outlined
and fenced in with your nails
you pulled at the field until the darkness of soil gave way
(you shook everything out
and grew flowers in it)
even the rocks got pushed up
and i looked for fossils in the displaced dirt
some part of a history
that i could trace
and know a thing
for sure
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ben, such a splendid write..........................