Saved from drowning by
My grandmother’s seashell doll,
All that is happening in the
Orange orchards,
As the light moves as duplicitous as
Girls,
As stewardesses up in the air
Never imagining how they must have
Gotten there,
But feeling good,
Knowing the spendthrifts of light over
The water and exactly how much time
It will take to bring them down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem