Red flowers fluttering like torn ribbons of an aftermath:
Her eyes the dual vision of languid matadors:
They have given their colors of the deepest riches to put men
Beneath them quilled and snorting blood,
Asking for her children, their eyes the banner of surrender,
Leaping like a rabbit in a clutch of striking snakes:
And her soul smiles at the assassinations, while cars
Drive apathetically high across the places where they used to live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem