Heavens apprehension took toward the
temperament placings of a Dove.
Disposition lies in a grave yard.
And pigeons feed on Central Park.
Where you believe I should be and
where we should see the time
fly by like the carcass crow creeps.
The propriety of where I'll dive
today is chosen like bloodstone.
I am the undertone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem