A weekend disappears and I sit on my
Couch across from my dog—
My wife in the shower and I am drinking
Rum. The airplanes have either gone to
Shanghai or outer space,
Like the love in my heart for yesterday—
But what absence is is without pain—
Words that cannot figure out beauty—
Like kindergarteners painting their colors
In ancient caves and then laying down
And sleeping— sleeping forever
And sometimes dreaming of the women
They've loved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem