Time's dark, dark times timid,
Timid times a quagmire
in the dead of moon, dreams marshaled
to barrenness,
feathers ruffle wee, weariness of legs,
clatter of dry leaf, hurtles, settles,
silence -
upon my ears a strange call from very close,
broken piece of cackle
broken piece of cackle,
lingo's familiar, surly throat, gracious,
broken piece of another cackle,
silence -
who's that agent of the Assisi
who speaks dotted lines,
trill in the darkness of starred skies,
untraced caller, spattered calls,
my memory buds belie,
known, unknown banshees in the jungle,
I spend my night smelling damp walls
of inescapability -
in the morning - Godlike - across the canopy
a gecko strides,
raises his neck to see if my night's been sinful
- as his.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem