Sure.
I'm a runaway slave. Dogs chase and bite me.
I'm sad and scared. Men with guns shoot at me.
I cut myself on the fence.
I trip on rocks and weeds.
Men on horses chase me.
They yell and hit me.
It is night. I am bleeding. They watch quietly.
I don't hurt anymore. It is ok.
White men take off their masks to watch.
Things are going dark as I die.
Analysis. Although the details of the story are there, the art, the poetry is lost.
Part of the beauty of poetry is leaving it to the reader to understand what the poet is saying without directly saying it.
The paraphrase is simply a story, but the poem is art.