You dream of naked skin
against the water in us:
How we turn our faces to the air
like archer fish spitting glass beads
tasting gravity against our teeth.
We take this much deep with us
into the fathoms we breathe
into the planet's slashed magma
unstitched and still expelling
afterbirth: we stick our heads back
in to the heat. You explain how
skin and meat boil
away from the bone
what's left of us floats back
up in bits to be devoured
and carried around the world
forever in the bellies
by a thousand birds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Matt, this is a work of art! First thing of yours I've read, and I'm reeled in. I'm ready to read more!