I killed a praying mantis and lost
My keys,
So no one likes me now, but the sky
Is so beautiful
Resonating like a wine glass, saying her
Name,
And the airplanes are the little prizes
Won or stolen from fairs,
Breathing softly like cats or goldfish,
Streaking the sky with the feral
Languages of her upright soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem