it's 5 am in the Sonesta coffee shop
it's 6 am in NYC
it's 3 am where you are
and it's raining
coffee sweating
into the April obscene air
it's a quarter past sunrise in the alley
still raining but the street life
comes awake gradually
with boots
and wings
sun lost in the time that
slides down the great window
like wristwatch fingers
point the way for clouds
to evaporate with heat
almost
today's the day
your voice was happy
California clear and
climate cool
and you are sleeping still
perfectly warm
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem