Black Loam
Jack Myers

It's been another good year.
 I pitchfork（骤然塞进） my poems into the air
 over and over until the black grains
 of letters pile up into never before

thought of things. All winter I'll pound them
 into dust and bake from that the black bread
 of meaning which is leavened（发酵） by death
 and is its source and devourer（吞噬者） .

After I've winnowed（跳出来） the poems, the wind
 will seem to have blown the seeds
 right out of oblivion. But it is only taking life
 from life, the many from the one, which is how
 I came to be and is what I have done.