Fastening to the heirlooms it attends,
Going out into the streets after the make-believe
Fireworks and climbing up into the family tree:
What is this to happen here,
Beneath the astral bellies of all the airplanes sinking in,
And the rinds that smoke up from the wimples
There- the frogs singing in the drainage,
Encouraged from their metamorphosis as tadpoles,
That they will be princes by and by:
And paper ghosts kissing me at the elbows,
And paper gods celebrating at the table of stolen
Light the moon holds and by it entertaining the midnight sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem