Over yonder past stacks of wheat and hay
There lies the first pavements of a newly born city
Ever beautiful and frightening still
I am watching, standing like the American gothic
Wrought with overalls and a straw hat
I fork my hay, moving it to free the image
To free the image of this paved monolith
Flat like a laid down headstone
Indeed, a headstone to mother earth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem