I’ve been playing by the rules:
I’ve been to California and touched the sea
By myself,
But never thought of the butterfly- web of
Shear sunlight that the scissors cut,
Or the running ponies tethered to their
Flag,
Like airplanes on a string:
They were echoing, echoing like fish kissing
Hooks- and they left us without
Remember the particular prizes that they took.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem