Short crises chasten the pools of love,
Their flowers bloom with blood on the lips,
Letters of the petals are shrunk and spun
Like dinner on a disaster and its plate.
Sunny smaller creatures ingenious for their love
Of food that quakes, shatter shovels
And loose change.
A lagoon plants its labyrinthine animals
To seize the throat as the righteous men
Feed the hearts with words of sound,
A lagoon has much inactivity
Now that languor is the justice.
Fleeting worries imbue the righteous men,
A straightforward task begins,
Many tales are won, justice has been spun
As the deities have never died
Unless they have sighed and not
Existed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem