I would like to be a dot in a painting by Miro.
Barely distinguishable from other dots,
it's true, but quite uniquely placed.
And from my dark centre
I'd survey the beauty of the linescape
and wonder -- would it be worthwhile
to roll myself towards the lemon stripe,
Centrally poised, and push my curves
against its edge, to give myself
a little attention?
But it's fine where I am.
I'll never make out what's going on
around me, and that's the joy of it.
The fact that I'm not a perfect circle
makes me more interesting in this world.
People will stare forever --
Even the most unemotional get excited.
So here I am, on the edge of animation,
a dream, a dance,a fantastic construction,
A child's adventure.
And nothing in this tawny sky
can get too close, or move too far away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem