The immanent draws to find country;
homely space among thehades and thorns,
whence the roots of self shall abode―
Bed for seeds, dreams to thaw,
beautiful asthe blind man'sthoughts.
The sweattiresthe salting of hardpans,
the butchery ofsinless crops.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem