beneath the sea is a glass
with painted models singing in the aether
a porcelain dancer tapped gently
calls forth in the proper key
the wine has been swallowed by the silence
the strings of my lute remain taut although
the glues have softened to the point where
the tunes can be played only with my breath
from A Foreign Landscape (1984)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem