Whether the harborline or the east shoreline
consummated it was nobody's biz until you got there,
eyelids ashimmer, content with one more dispensation
from blue above. And just like we were saying,
the people began to show some interest
in the mud-choked harbor. It could be summer again
for all anyone in our class knew.
Yeah, that's right. Bumped from our dog-perch,
we'd had to roil with the last of them.
It's taken a while since I've been here,
but I'm resolved. What, didn't I print,
little piles of notes, slopes almost Sicilian?
Here is my friend:
Socks for comfort (now boys) will see later. Did they come?
The inner grocery had to take three sets of clips away.
Speaking to him of intricate family affairs.
I'm not what you think. Stay preconscious.
It's just the "flooding of the council." No need to feel afraid.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem