in every core there is a rock -
a rock once made of baby
tears, now grown tough
with the briny drippings
of sin. it bounces off love
and detours with hate.
in every hand there is a fist-
one hardened with the search,
a search for trust (another
fist) to hold, not use. the
finding is smothering in a life.
the having is as easy as summer rain.
in every mouth there is a groan-
a groan of love so low only
depth can hear. i eat the
air. i want a kiss.
a groan.
a rock.
a fist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem