He claps a hand
Across the gaping hole—
Or else the sight might
Well inside to
Melt the mind—if any
Thinking spoke
Were in the wheel,
Or any real
Fright-fragments broke
Out of the gorge to
Soak the breast, the meaning
Might incite a stroke—best
Press against it, close
The clawhole, stand
In stupor, petrified. The dream
Be damned, the deeps defied.
The hand’s to keep
The scream inside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem