high-up in the organ-loft
Saint Anonymous
where pillars of darkness
hide his smooth white face
weeps
for the unarrivals
the pilgrims
just off the beaten-track
in the chromium-plated
neon
of the wayside diners
who almost hear his call
from the juke-box in the corner
and shadows on the wall
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem