"That panting on the wall"
really was the most interesting line
in the whole magazine.
But my pleasure in it was diminished
by the abject apology in the next issue:
Apparently the poet is still lying down
due to the typo that turned painting
My disappointment was offset though
by a new poet who went on and on
about the waning light across harrowed
fields and the long shadows of cedar
and pine until finally everything
was "covered by dorkness."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem