Bath of voices and of
Hummingbirds—the children sing forever, going into
Their shelves— A wash with their own echoes of
Laughter matriculating through the halls—
Pretty and bashful with acne and smiles, and all of the
Bloom, like a meadow excited by windmills-
With the craft of the dark moons hanging like twins
Above them,
And in September—fireworks—great bonfires of weddings,
And other women's love down through the forks
Of rivers, accumulated in cul-de-sacs of sweat and tears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem