Now the tomboys are playing with their
Over burdened kittens in the precipices of caustic
Traffic,
And what airplanes we have made, we have sent
Them away:
Spilling with joy across the canal, to land and dampen
Before the lips of tadpoles:
What will they ever know of girls,
Or fireworks who themselves die on holidays:
The world, like unmarked letters bottled to the busied
Lips of the sea, returns to the sender in time;
And everyone in their loneliness looks up across
The kingly tombs of ant mounds and landfills,
At the stark naked beauty in a blue flag of
Hopeful surrender across the bodiless sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem