it go'....
.find it on a bathroom wall? ....
applies well...to urine, yes....
the rest..
all of it...is filed...
in scraps under the bed...in loose and looser leaves..
.in layers thin as crisped
and honeyed baklava tissues
or
as deep as the folds
of that loden manteau
in
the lavendared trunk....
it is grist...
and
when I am mill-less, it steeps/sleeps....fitful...snoring...
I touch it, rub the patina....the rust....the beard on the grain....I shake it..
what
remains
is the treasure.....
as is the dust....
the fermented air,
and
its shadow......
a sneeze
scatters some of these palps and didos....
the layers, rearranged, accustom themselves
to their newer placements....
shift and wriggle, settle in....not so politely waiting their turns....
piggy-backing when they can..........
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
fantastic free verse.. you might just be a master in this. :) .