And you looked beautiful for a minute—
Now the minute is up,
The airplane as flown—
The fox has flown the coop—
The children have all gone home—
And penniless,
Diving to the recesses of the most
Nocturnal of architectures,
I can only write yourself this way
Well after the nights and the nights
Of stolen bicycles—
And the moon seems to make sense,
Hanging from the chicken wire—
A mouthful for foxes—
As the excitable beauties, winged,
Make a noise through the pines.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem