In this manly dream kingdom we stay,
With such clothes, such distinct thoughts
Of the way our existence stays in time with laws,
And singing voices walk on the ceiling
Whenever the operas begin somersaulting.
This dream is more distant than the eye,
Wearing logic of a kindness that is grand.
They nightly dream and daily dream in torchlight,
For the effect to deliver is crafted from wines.
A flower breaks away and interrupts us in the wake
Of hours not minutes.
The ambush has been committed, lowering
The anguish of a hundred years,
Or what is called a century,
And not a millennium.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem