unholy earth, dark with stein,
unformed loam at birth;
a worded child of mud,
fingernail skinned blacklack eyes
peek out of a ball of wet slam,
a groundling that waves like a black branch
across the sleeping fields,
see a shadow under the cold grass,
near in sight under a crust of frost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem