Revealer of the star at the apple’s heart,
you slice the fruit along its tart-sweet equator.
Didn’t you say we are much the same matter
as those cosmic makings we dream ourselves apart
from, planets, comets, the flame and plume of the sun?
You adroitly knive a spiral-nebula strip,
the peel of one more apple. Permit me to whip
the world, that antique clock, in retrospin,
O photon-compounded whirling-particle girl.
Collapsing around an indivisible star-cell,
there is time, so much time ahead. A June day: grass-
green rays, gold lights, flick across an ivory dress…
Which ornately proclaims, This hot enough morning to stun,
call me Cool Moondust Woman─ the one, the one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem