Combining the alchemy of paddleboats across the
Torpid acrobatics of the a living room’s holiday, waiting for
All the yawning mouths of lions
And water moccasins to close, for the stolen bicycles of
Kidnapped children to be revealed,
And a perfectly beautiful epiphany to be blundered upon
Somewhere out in the make believe moving around in
School buses,
Or through the forbidden transoms of the graveyards of some
Midwestern university, where the strange girls finally become
Perfectly, and unspeakably beautiful,
And the night learns of my laughable prayers for her,
Burning in its attempts at homeless unison,
Like little feathers plucked from a resilient bird who will not
Quit singing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem