It was sunrise, October.
Karen had just done herself in.
I suffered it through with
William Blake and gin.
Over the fence across the street
children ran to class and Blake
too chased those kids fast through
leaves in the chill school yard.
I thought - the ground's already hard over
you, Karen. To Charon then and keep
yourself warm. My arms no longer can.
You left no note in the dawn.
Out of lime and song at 7 a.m.
I dress, spin down the steps like then
in this morning now thin with Spring.
There's green over you now.
I can't help but see a thin mildew
form around your fingers in the dark.
Blake's down playing in the park.
I'll play some Dinah when I get back in.
Now heart,
don't you start that singing again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem