If we take the drenched Sakura flowers in the trenches
To be the value of aesthetics,
Under one, laudable, radiant sun
I fall easily inward, perchance by designation.
In Stevens's red weather,
The trees are shedding petals
And gaining leaves
And stripping bark, without a heart
In macroscopic waves; in sunshine,
Ants crawl up stalks,
In tilled grass fields
Of honor and perspiration
For lack, thereof, precipitation
And fall in heaps upon the thousands of the mound.
I lied -
Here they have nests.
Here, ants walk a thin line on tightly wound dimensions
Not stopping to take a bite out of nothing;
Not moonshine nor the tumultuous air,
Not forgetting that structuralism
Got us where
Nothing else is more significant?
The street is perfect from where I stand.
The street is first perfect, and then I stand
Among the lights;
Moving in my smoothest
If rightfully to obtest, then
Royally, now, taking a bow
Of utmost, staged gratitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem