The world speaks in buildings of piles and seagulls;
And this is how it strikes out to sell:
I have been right smack dab in the middle of a baseball diamond
In the randy mists before school:
And I glorify myself with the names for my queens which they
Will never even think to have;
And it floods, I can take all of the shortcuts back to the arc
And count on all of the animals I have been looking for
To be there,
And her naked hand and both of her children cooing and making
Faces with the loyal doves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem