We drove the Jersey shore
where the owlish color
of hollyhocks lasts into September.
Green pennants billow from cupolas
and chains of yellow bulbs droop
below the plaster façade of casinos.
Several hotels grow luminous
and for lunch we buy lavender plums;
their violet eyes lapse and close
as we rest and eat.
Old garages line the lower road
like women taking the sun;
a light spray of champagne
on her lips; clearly she is drinking
again;
the handsome sea, moody as cigarette
smoke; a cirrus of low clouds turning
the afternoon the color of a pilot light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem