where do they lead, stranger?
back or forth, or to the end,
I’m glad you’re coming too.
If we hop a train, i must say,
it would be scary without you.
hobos live in dusty corners,
yelling at those who venture near.
smelly animals, dead or live,
can ruin a starving hunger.
Cold-
his fingers grip my shoulders in a moonless night.
Warm stories pass the time.
The metal path has a gentle curve
that makes us forget we’re even moving.
but the uneven ground
is unsettling.
I am enamored by your quick step,
each foot lands with firm trust.
I trip no matter how
I try to impress you...
stumbling into love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem