There are still places we can go.
Like green lights for the fox to follow
Where mermaids are as swimming emeralds
And trees emerge from the sky—
I suppose you do not think of our
Swing-set anymore—
Continually, you have to return diurnal—
Disappearing to where there is smoke
In the sky—
And unkept promises of your metamorphosis -
Words as offerings left for you in
High school,
And I wait underneath the chinaberry tree—
Referencing black gods
Who dancing in a zoetrope beneath the sun
That so blinds you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem