Times when art is a contrivance,
science a numeric construct,
all thinking, effects chasing causes
and dreaming an excess before sleep,
times when I become extravagant
and wish for the best that god ever offered,
to be a cat among warm velvet cushions,
all night when the rain sweeps over the window,
from is whiskers to its tail,
a sheer madness for a morsel of fish.
(1997)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
all night when the rain sweeps over the window, from is whiskers to its tail, nice poem