Vanishing in its place a pretty lie:
A tear shed by the angel whom had said she could
Never cry-
As a horse is held my father, as the airplanes
Fly into night
And night again- a page folded over into the spine
Of cannibalism:
And into the joys of flesh of busy mouths and
Busy organs:
Into the joys of ourselves perfuming the highways
In a night of parks and moonlight,
As the blue gills swam hoping to live forever
In the canals that moved so slowly
They were like a zoetrope
From the petrified forests of your forever heart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem