School in another day of clouds, where song birds
Slip into words,
Hurrying the boys to class, and slipping the girls at
The water fountains into all sorts of narcolepsy:
Then there will be toy boats in the streams,
And paper airplanes molting underneath the flecks of
Red holly on the other side of the canal.
Even though the cat may be dead
And may even be eaten away by its platoons of
Ants,
The rabbits that ran away can still watch you from
Where they love—on the other side of the shell rock
Road—in their hideouts of pornography—
As another sun trumpets its rigamoral through the
Hallways of another careless day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem