little clinking blocks of charcoal
for toes
and bigger shaded ones
for feet
spindles of a table
for ankles
and paint chipped bocce balls
for knees
baseball clubs
for legs
and a shifting box of cigars
for hips
rotten tree trunks
for spines
a pile of hunched burning brush
for ribs
rusty transmissions
for hearts
and a extra lukewarm companion
to enjoy stops along the way
sunset warms us
and we sit back and watch it happen
in an open car
one of us becomes fate
as the other epiphanizes reality.
as it (you know) dances
on either of our branches
we face the world and change.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem