Maybe we’ll live together once the sky collects
Itself and remembers all the famished wishes of the rain:
And the highways finally have presents to
Tie up underneath the deciduous holidays of more than
Lonely Christmas trees:
Or if any of this was possible, I would have a good woman with
Me right now,
Curling up like a Siamese blue in the fog that is forever
Rising in the early mornings,
Like surrendered flags, or my mother’s dreams of flying airplanes:
Or the way that Alma’s eyes looked at me today,
So far away, like spindles of bicycles that had become lost
Upon their deep and desirous way to school.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Every line is exquisite.