Oh that rainbow is good for poetry and going
Down on her on display in the window of her brown reality:
There it is: she made it across so many canals,
And through so many forests, like a butterfly who had no
Intentions of dying, or of ever coming that way again,
Like a fair returning to my heart
To light upon it with a nude midway made of a surprising
Panoply that somehow learned to keep itself burning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem