This happened over the pledges of the wanton beating
Of my heart:
Each beat a shedding of drear coinage down the wishing
Well where the ghosts imagine they are bleeding-
Tearing with words that pretend to be beautiful,
Imagining that they can last a long time, an in each pitiful
Sob a metamorphosis, a new beginning-
When they are already stains in a forgotten bathroom:
All of their goldfish are stolen and tantalizing
The sun and the cats in the sun on the windowsill-
Each with a silken heartbeat that will too soon be dying-
And the ghosts blow like banners, and like tears of
The long collapsed windmills
That sink further and further into the world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem