Impermanent lover
catches in my throat
like lumps of wet sod;
Earth's brash child,
too soon released;
ran before he crawled:
the track had been greased.
Of freedom’s disparagements
his nature's in awe,
hand clutching finger
slows the other's momentum,
stilling to conquer;
dissolving to break,
tremulous sighing,
garrulous ache.
Abrasively worn down,
the cloak of the other;
Clandestine ambush
of green-growing cover.
Your child has your eyes;
It's mother, your hate
Home again, home again:
They've locked your gate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very good poem, Patti