If you lie underneath the playgrounds,
How will I find you so far away from school,
Hidden from all of the unreasonable
Classrooms,
And chanticleer already fried upon an orange
Plate that is beginning to fade-
Losses of thought echoing where your footprints
Have already left-
Like your own memory for water parks,
Or the way you held hands with your sister
In the middle of everywhere:
These thoughts are for you, like the small disturbances
Across a baseball diamond abandoned in the afternoon-
After airplanes have made nests of the highest sky,
And the moon talks them into becoming
Things that she can steal.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem