(i)
The geometer no longer
grabs the arms
of a bouncing hurricane,
as wings flip out
waved gorilla fingers,
the furry animal striking hard.
As it rises to punch
and push its arrow head
through air,
a tornado drops
the peg of a compass
spun to hold the center.
The net of a wallowing
circle rides round
and through the ripples
of a fisherman's paddle.
(ii)
How a world holds
down the pencil
to sketch out round
herringbone wings
of a galloping ripple
to grab trout and crab,
but not the whale,
with its house-filling mouth,
nor a shark
drinking a river
with all its soft-handed worms,
as waters nibble off
the compass that doesn't
catch the shark,
but devours the bait,
as it swims
into a sinking world
of wider-mouthed traps.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem