A deer in the cauldrons altogether:
Looking up, fathomless to the fathoms—
And stars and stars
Of places filled with ghosts—
Submarines lying in the trenches of the sea
And on Mars, Mars:
Two dogs leaping are her moons—
And in these streets at night,
The antithesis to Arizona’s limbo—
And the things I saw today,
Riding on a bus, the caesuras of my wife’s
Legs, and the laziness of being alive
Brings us back to familiar places:
The dow in the meadow,
Eating grasses,
Chances upwards to see the ghost
As the moon, the thief,
Bends down to drink the sea.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem