i don't remember the name
of the campsite -
or the names of the two boys
who shared my tent
i recall - if i consider carefully
the lips a girl
touched by teenage lust
and drink
the clearest image
is the squadron of frogs
who - confused
hopped merrily into the campfire
the hiss of their suicide
and the smell of their small bodies
mingling with burnt marshmallows
is graffiti on my memory
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem