We'd say
the big dark woods
and shiver.
Nothing
at the opaque hour
but creaking branches,
overheated reesin.
The eye grown wide
searches for a firefly,
the support of a thougt.
But by neonlight
fir trees amble.
Night no longer terrifies,
nor does the oger.
For
kids are killers.
Transl. Judy Cochran and Anne-Marie Glasheen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem