Sabbath is out in the open—
Sabbath looks like a tree:
And your mother and your father are
Having guests
Taking their flowers to the graves
And looking up:
Everyone speaking Spanish over
The fort or over the hallucinations
Of the trees:
They both belong together,
Flagella of their species—
Round a bouts of merry-go-rounds—
Children growing up in circles,
A bouquet of the dizzying roses:
And I don’t have to believe who they
Say they are:
In the morning, they will be just
Another hallucination
Like the fireworks who are gone
Saying their busier séances to
The emptying highways.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem