caught on the wing the wing is a
disarray of sun spots
overtaking
the air black dots on sheer on trans-
parency on wheel and whee
openness so
surprising it rivals invincibility what
is magic to do pull itself
out of a hat
saw itself in two what a to-do
grabs hold of my finger
extended will
not to be shaken free together we are one
stem one spire one shoot upshot
bent at a right
angle to itself so this is what it feels
to be reed a stem with wings
for leaves a
finger that can see how the wind blows what
whir ungloves my breath what whist
what wings two
sets can up can down can blow fast
forward faster re-
verse how is
language to keep up how outwing
those wings their gulps
and gobbles of
ricochet at every bump is this
what the world is this romp
this dizziness a fast
roll of the dice four dots and three hundreds
bounced into life the same
morning bumbling
babies they stub their fantastic
engines on air on me not
at all brainy
like a bow tied like a fancy gift done
up with organza like a spree
a paint-the-town dotty
such extravagance such waste too soon
they stump to a standstill in
puddles on hedges
tossed aside still brand new still shiny
the windup toy that will not wind a
mood run down
should i take back my delight delaminate
what wing was joy but oh my king-
dom for the tip of a branch
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Exquisite detail, whisking eye and mind to a torrent of considerations, I like it, thanks for sharing, look forward to more. Please check out my poems, I'd appreciate it.