were wolves without howls.
Maybe we were stones that doubled
when hatred crashed out of classroom mirrors
maybe we were broken glass
psyclopsing in the rented mouth of bulldozed words
maybe we were shipwrecked authors
seating worlds carefully into glue-eyed bottles
maybe we were bottled catfish floating
whiskers-up in the shade of Jupiter
maybe we were failing waters
as junky gods shot spider lightning into raining veins
maybe we were naked windows
shivering in the doubled storm.
Maybe we are hammocks gently snoring
on the secret islands of sleeping minds
maybe we are church bells in Tupelo;
the cotton sound of dragonflies vibrating the honey sun
maybe we are shadow traffic controllers
guiding moth-shaped ancestors to porch light runaways
maybe we are star-bellied foxes
digging hungry to the boneless moon
maybe we are dirty-minded engines
roaring heavy to the skinless voice
maybe we are pink poems
tied loosely to a canvas of bones
maybe we are picnics in the timid heart
boldly eating diamonds from a factory's broken eyes
maybe we are children catching
stones instead of throwing
maybe we are howls without wolves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem