(for Agnes Josiane Bongjoh)
(i)
I lie and roll over
on the edge
of a bed's cascades,
these holed empty,
hollow sheets jumping
and wobbling
over each other.
I lie and stretch out
on the breeze-steered lake
of the daisy sheet
that left me abandoned
to a silk hammock
swinging in the breeze.
It still seesaws you
with me, and rocks me
from bank to bank
over the galloping, snailing river
bearing a canoe
I cannot straighten and paddle
without your hands
of zephyr and puffs. Wheel me,
O fly me through
to the bank
to raise you higher than me.
(ii)
I lie and roll over,
pulling you
to my cream drifting bed
of empty lay, a wavy height.
Dropping, cartwheeling
into a deep floor
flapped like a big grackle
in our blanket's furrow.
Folding, folding us up
to roll on and on
in the swimming hands
of swelling ripples.
(iii)
I lie lifted on springs
on a ruffled patch of air
I still float on,
finding no space
on my island
bouncing with us
flipped up
a rising mountain world
with deep holes.
Let me float on the leaf
to swing on a storm
drifting, drifting me
to its beaming flower-
starred tree branch
arched to a slow stream
on flooded waters
singing the song
that glued us to sunlight
in threads of rays
weaving leaves and petals
by a candle light:
O let the light carve out
the curves
of the ripples that make you
bounce over me
with a close pulling breath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem