Something black touched the Tarr
who'd blasted Cab Calloway
and dallied with Adolf.
This warmth and wisdom
gave his seventh decade leaven.
His composite Cosmic Man
came to him. A Tiger Woods.
But who was it brushed
this modernist Napoleon
in exile specks of comfort?
We'll never know.
But wonder.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem