Pay attention: You constitute a
clutter of fear, regret, despair.
You are old. Indeed,
it is always late.
You eat, sleep, and ogle
too much—are
an odd blend of hog,
hibernating bear, and cat.
You’ll never grow up.
And so on.
You’re just another routine
example of grace—
that is, of its absolute necessity,
obvious presence. If I were
God, I wouldn’t bother
with you. God, however,
is God and apparently
bothers. Pay attention.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I unconditionally love this poem.