From each little seed
A candle tucks in
To the wishbones of its
Graveyards
Even while the firehouses
Are yammering for a
Paradise of fireworks,
As civilizations loom through
The forests;
Epochs of miscarriages
Searching for
The fire escapes of
Wombs
Leaping like senseless
Equipages-
Towards another
Fieldtrip to the breathless
Darkness gathering for the unbearable folklores
Of a pestilent orchard.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem