the morning started with fog
and now late, a dark sky hangs over Brisbane;
in the West a child has scrawled
untidy clouds
over the sun
and the remaining pieces of silver
are eaten like potato chips
by the night
the winter night
takes the sun in her ample breasts
the moon looks helpless on the opposite side
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'and the remaining pieces of silver are eaten like potato chips by the night the winter night takes the sun in her ample breasts the moon looks helpless on the opposite side' so wonderfully unique, masterful