I saw you
unexpectedly
on the street today.
Though it was midday
your eyes were dilated,
and you seemed
almost electrically
charged with thought,
with an increased
speed of speaking:
"I garden, I grill meat,
I prowl the bars."
But I was having
difficulty listening.
Your teeth were growing.
A muscle
spasmed against
my diaphragm;
I needed
a bag of ice.
Still, I could see
those rooms
with perfect clarity:
the coat rack
and bureau,
the dinner plates
with congealed meat,
the flea market Piranesi,
and the long mirrors
like camera lenses
freezing us
as the boat-header
gave you his final
thrusts, preparatory
to the cutting-in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem