Sometimes he’s the peacock
Ambling through the parking lot
Or the vines on the chain link fence.
He’s been a hurricane
A storm brewing in the warm ocean.
Pounding hailstones once, he took me
Down hard.
He may be the puppy with innocent brown eyes
Or the centipede that I must sting to understand
Me.
And he wants to take me with him
Small and fast
In a snow trodden place
Into weedy marshes
Or long-lived
In sheets of rain
Whipping winds around the earth
And my back.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem