Weapon in a cloud in a dragon's
Fading dream—
The sea happens over the open windows
Hoping that their search will find her—
Verbs of actions—
The proverbs overlooking the methods—
Soon the entire nocturnal garden
Will be enshrouded with the sunshine—
Airplanes will burn like arrows in the sky—
And the weekend will surrender
To the merry-go-rounds of impassible
Joy—to the cenotaphs of high school
And her soft hoof prints over which the
Milk weed sways
Until the lights turn off—and there is
No more room for wandering—
And the church is a lone and stumbling—
Bloody-footed and tender-eyed—
Like a marbled child in a latchkeyed
Fairytale of any passible Monday.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem