The boys ran
After the ball exploded
The bedroom window.
Shattered glass shards
In indiscriminate flight.
The ants re-grouped
To build after
The red-cherry erupted
The hill like Pompei,
Scattering serendipitously.
Grimmacing quarter moon
Pumpkins lay in hodge-podge
Pieces on All Saints Day.
Suitcases, clothes and neckties
Stewn on a runway
Like a kid's bedroom.
We move from order to chaos,
Like the third light
On a match.
I was lead to believe
Displacement Laws,
Science, and regular
Bowels could explain
Explosions,
So we can lift the stones
On Salisbury and Newgrange,
Or re-arrange grains of sand
With projected order.
We only have a beginning
And an end, while living
Through the explosions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem