Pretty for almost a day
In his junior year after he’d come
Back from running away northwards
With delicate bruised on his wrists
From handcuffs,
During a fire-drill:
She loved him almost the entire time....
Then he was published at twenty-five,
Obscurely- no one knew,
Scarred, he loved her and patrolled
Her neighborhood,
Exhaling the temporary immortality
His words brought him.
Too soon he laid it down
To see what she was holding;
It took him almost an hour to
Test at 155,
But he lived with another
Woman’s room
Then the quiet things are expressed
In drunken parks as midnight wanes:
His love was yet unpolluted and deep,
But the way to it
Was overgrown and lost,
So he meandered
Decapitated and mute,
With only his wrists to judge the feeling,
In the morning she went to work
Just as unknowing
His words,
Like the unfortunate offspring would
Fade away before him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem