Coy in the stilettos of poniards,
And now this: done with the staccatos up the second
Flights,
Done with the kittens in their baths- and filled with
Scars and resonations,
Little games, and little girls following the slender tribulations
Up the stairs to their freshman lovers
In little rooms under yellow covers- spoken words
Said in whispers,
Dirty dishes- drying flowers- another place to find the
Resilience in the plywood of lumbers:
The facades of freckled shoulders riling like dolphins slipping
Through watery boulders:
Or whatever world it is, spending over and tying its shoes,
Going down like fingers perusing the instruments of
News:
Bad hands that pass her over, losing the games of wanton
Lovers;
Discarded into the dalliances of foxgloves, with someone else
Waking up dearer to her in the castles of golden hay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem