I will teach the children tomorrow
About the differences between tomorrow and voodoo and
Zombies—
Even if there is a butterfly over the dead mule,
The sound of my lips will sound again
Over the emptied baseball stadium—
And my muses will echo—
Like the sea in a glass in a museum—
And you will know nothing of me,
But I am a good man—
On the swing-set, in a church,
Or teaching Sabbath school—
I am the reincarnation of my great- great grandmother
Who married too young,
And wrote her poetry to the nothing-men
Who lived between the apexes of the overwritten mountains
And the valleys of the nameless heavens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem