The shot half uncertain
sniffs on the ground, as an expert
hired to loose our cheap entertainment
in its tracks.
She finds me under the berry bush,
where I am anchored with a thick stripe,
it’s high up on the pants, searching, impudently.
She dare not know
shut-eyed is how it has to be,
in double symbolism.
A snake is loose in the grass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem