Eels in her skirts as
They speak French underneath the flag
Of the old weather tower
And look at those clouds
Smoky fires in the curtains
Above the silver fish
Ethereal monuments peeking underneath
The heavens
And I have seen you there, muse
And I am transitory, but you are there
Floating above the earth
Seeming to be the ash of birthday cakes
Or the beautiful metamorphosis of
All things
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem