My school is building things in rings,
Like bus loops, or swimming pools,
Like track suits;
Function is a form of our making
Stone stairwells, wooden panels,
Or rectangular flooring -
Will it finish by the Spring? Like sleet,
Or hail,
Or rolling thunder;
Yet vapours of hidden, metal plumbing
Drains holes in natural spaces -
Where water itself
Is wandering.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem, Nathaniel. Thanks for sharing