Wound With No Easy Translation

"...& take everyone through the wound of it."
                                                                  ~ Chen Chen

My body is the sudden drop into darkness 
             at the end of daylight saving time; 
is the summer of power-washing mold  
            from the walls, and the unsettling pain of  
posterior deltoids; is the night it heard the green 
          mourning cries of crickets in the field, and a chorus 
of frogs answering; is the city that comes into view
          as a bus rounds a curve, but only as a faded
outline of lights. My heart is the terror that entered
         one side; and how it left, bereft, on the other. My love
is only as round as a new potato pulled up from soil,
         only as glamorous as a seahorse's skull—I know
nothing about how they came to be what they are,
         only the mystery of their presence in the world.

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