How many words sent out like doves,
To return yet faithless with only dark streaks in their
Eyes,
Like sentinels but who knows what they’ve
Been watching:
Another line sent out for one or two muses,
Who might as well be still-life on the slab, or married
Paralegals, moving to all parts of the world,
Parceled out like shifting glass in a kaleidoscope
Except for me,
Except for my muddy bed- I am an amphibian,
I crawl back from the carport to the sun;
And I’ve never been atop the roofs of firehouses to
See how they work;
And now isn’t the band marching, but we shouldn’t have
To see them, because we are supposed to be in school:
And there is a really good lesson we can go
Chasing after on or bicycles, like faithful dogs,
While all throughout these houses and the choicest pines,
Her perfumes seems to linger like a poisoned memory,
As the band plays something we should not have to see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem