A joy in the sweeping shallows, in the emptied
And broken throats that once used to hold
And thus pronounce diamonds:
A store of loitering thoughts
And manticores and unicorns and
Other stolen though immortal things:
Cannot you hear me breathing now,
So close and so lost there beside your schoolyard—
Quilled from the beautiful accoutrements:
Inebriated besides the banks of your forbearers
While your beautiful thoughts go shimmering
Like misplaced coins and wishes
Beside the brink.-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem