And this is another sound, a protuberance to
The alert jack rabbits:
The way I sometimes hear the airplanes leaping
A leap year:
And I am in my yellow house, and you are with
Your auburn spouse:
And the trees outside go like this:
And the trees outside going like this,
Not as the waves go, but in mirror image:
The trees go like this.
The waves go like this, as you are yourself
Beckoning-
Stewardess in a mirror of long ago-
From my boyhood I remember you, even though
Now all of that memory is the sad sheath
Of a forgotten cicada hanging like the forlorn
Decoration of a weeping holiday against the throat
Of another tree lost in her arboreal sorority.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think I like this very much.