Going down the aisle into a fun world
Of rabbits in their favorite briars—recounting all of
The words I know and reusing them every night—
The world a geode on my shoulders—
And in its prisms, turning around—the beautiful
Junk of flea markets—and my muses who live on
The other side of the canal—
Tortoise in the soft sand planting her roe—
My mother weeping in the cathedral, nowhere else
To go—airplanes in the sky never touching down—
A king bending to the lamplight to reveal his thorny crown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem