I am uncovered, thin, bared upon thinner
sheets the man-ripped to many images,
torn into, landscaped to former curves.
No longer do I grieve enclosure, touching
only myself, delivered from layers.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.
All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hands, purple insides flare warrior nerves
to unknotting surprise.
Magpie dances.
Lines, veins, strung between Pole Star
and First River Mouth, an embedded ruin uncovers in milk floods.
Touch gently first what has been too long concealed.
Hard touch congeals once was telling mud remolded into
"Not again. Not yet the bleeding Centurion."
Wield roughly then through gates too long shut.
When I cry out, do not mind. Blindly ram. Do not stop.
Magpie, my keeper, is flying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The language in this is beautiful. It's had to perfect cadence as you did in this piece. The imagery also is wonderful. I saw the bursting! beautiful write.