The hedges crawl up further around the stewardesses,
Like unruly rinds around their ankles,
While my parents were kicked out of your fruiteria today,
Alma- and tomorrow I might be without a job:
I might never even see you again, while I listen to the sleeping
Angels who pass carelessly above me like the purring of
Airplanes- they pass above me,
And today we jogged and ate together and played like instruments
In a stove:
Like golden instruments- like diamond instruments,
Like instruments who by themselves defeated the unjust kings and
Laid down to kiss and play and otherwise be by themselves
In the gardens which they sang- in an enamored melody which
I truly believe meant as much to you as it did to me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem