at Dawn
at dawn the earth was in its
beginning
a sort of genesis
that it repeats every-day
on the wing the lark
was setting...
its throat it was
clearing...
the waters were churning
a squirrel
crossed the road that was
the noon sun burning:
the genesis..
sort of..
the waters sliding lazily
as in the afternoons
as they had in the
night...
on the rocks
the blackening of the
white
was their mark...
the waters climbing
a rat, asole and
lonely rat was passing
throughout the tortuous
mains and echoing slabs...
at Dawn
at Dawn
and the lark now on wing
skipped kangaroo-like
the humid skies
to sing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem