.
There is clean coldness in the sky today.
It has been swept with wings.
The air is nothing of the Earth today.
The decay of summer is spent.
Summer is six days gone.
I hear Ariel approaching.
I never meant to dislike July and summer
Nights reeking with frog voices,
Nights merry with the discord of crickets.
I did not question why I was living a life
Of spoiled strawberries
And the staccato washing of dishes.
Wringing my hands in dishtowels that
Seethed with endless repetition,
Until I heard Ariel approaching.
In Ariel's own time
And reason.
Walking on air in Ariel's time,
Dreading those doors and words
That interrupted my preparation
For shepherding wings and phrases.
Now Ariel is here, between the lowest
Levels of a gossamer Hell
And myself.
Between dishtowels, strawberries, and
Myself.
Between the ice-laden images of divorce
And myself.
Ariel is mine.
And Ariel is approaching.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem