Yesterday
a bus with thin green lines
painted on
passed by thirteenth street,
its windows
fallen into disorder,
like the socks of girls
coming out of school.
It went by with the wind
singing all along
a song of laughter,
of hurried and spontaneous fleetingness.
It was the sweetest sound
you could ever hear
at two o'clock in the afternoon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem