Poetry at Sangam
Poetry at Sangam showcases poetry in English and translations as well as essays on poetics and news of new releases.
The dog and the frog and the tree cut up my silence
They claim each their portion, and I’m left with
what quakes the ground without touching it.
The tree is a face I cannot recognize; no longer
eyes, ears, mouth, or sex; what oozes here is another sap
I cannot taste it.
The tree is a hand, my hand denatured, fingers astrew
We hold out to the world, in abeyance,
We hold back what the birds have flown away to.
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