O half moon—-
Negro, masked like a white,
Amputations crawl and appall—-
Me from that shadow—-
The indelible buds.
Knuckles at shoulder-blades, the
Shove into being, dragging
Blood-caul of absences.
All night I carpenter
A space for the thing I am given,
Of two wet eyes and a screech.
The dark fruits revolve and fall.
The glass cracks across,
Flees and aborts like dropped mercury.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem