Yellowness in the hoods of butterflies
As I sleep underneath of the
School busses
And another day turns around exchanging sunlight
For rain across the oilslicks from
The oil pans-
And the otters play in the forensics of canals
And I cannot believe that you cannot see them:
Maybe it is because you are looking at me
As the zoo has fallen down around itself
And the waves culminate in the haywire
Of a trapeze of so many mouths
With the lions yawning in the basins
The echoes of which bring the spoils of
The afternoon’s thunder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem