my feet can never be any
bigger
than the dropp of the rain
that the pregnant
cloud is shedding
i cannot hold this world
with my arms
my palms fall short of the
width
necessary for
the holding of the
fruits of the
loom
i am confident
nothing is there to harm
my beliefs
for tomorrow's siblings
of early morning
naps and
piques.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem