By the long boats bred to distinction,
I commend this cacophony to life's liege.
The Maynard ducks, the snow white swans,
And the beasts of this preoccupation are swelling
My shoes, kicking the water and dissolving into
Introductions, finery, commencement, and veins.
My liquid has boiled, encouraging the sweat,
Logs of wood scrawl on the riverbed, the only
Solution to the English Channel worse than today.
I am a longer boat and beauty, a little stranger
Of the heart and heat this day on a sunny time
This side of the squatting town.
If water enters frozen joys, it enlightens me,
Logs and wooden barges are the offering,
Forming tense soldiers, in this sense the worst
Has occurred, in the partnership of guilt
And loss, for my force is like water and its toy;
The toying of water stagnates and warns us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem