Watch out for every face
not pinned down by pity
to a cold glazed rock in sleep.
Watch it squirm in a slow rapture,
as it spreads its wings over
spawling, slowly waking prey:
the rays of so many nights, forming
a focused light formed of substance
heart's rays can accept,
while their long-shuddering patience
shoulders the rock's sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem