Cloud, the color of basalt, Nico,
when will you know me?
OK, penance is wonderful, but enough-
far more casually we are saved.
A marble torso in a cardinals' bed chamber
could do it;
the tooth of Venus in a glass
could do it;
Parma violets
could do it;
A skiff with a light on it
couldn't. You
are the definition
of maybe, or,
something like attention, up
to the grab of winds.
Rub
your salty presence into this ring. Admit
a blonde on a motor cycle is
what you want like everyone else
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem