In the brambles
The deer speckle like the heavens,
The stream entangles
The foothills in ribbons-
The men know narcolepsy and not work-
The unicorns embraid the foreheads
With ivory.
The tower is a sheath on the hill.
And the children
Wait for Christmas, lost from their
Fathers-
Stolen from their mothers-
The fabulous liquors make-up their mouths:
They are being spoken to of
Otters,
They know the svelte of the dime-store
Animals:
They live in hills of the earth
And they bulb the trees with their
Joy.
The horns of the city are in echoes
Far-away:
Their make-believe professions are forgotten
Under clouds that
Take the shapes of merry weathers.
And they hold hands like rings
Of mushrooms
In the forests.
The bright wrappings dance underneath
Their grinning eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem