Dogs come down to the basement while ash floats
Through the sky,
And airplanes and baseball are coming down
Across the moats to the castle,
While the silver or the green knight is still up in the
Hills,
And it is a long ways to China even on the wings of
A Pegasus-
As the pinwheels spin out even after all the lips of
Pretty girls
Are gone,
Having eaten all of the apples meant for the science
Teacher-
And it was always such a strange class I missed,
Preferring the company of otters or blue gills;
So, closing my eyes, I could always practice remembering
The busses always turning around,
Taking their turns, showing off for the orchards that used
To be there- the pollen in the air
As yellow as birds, or the memories of a kindergarten
That presupposedly existed in the fieldtrips of kidnappers,
Their off color lovers sleeping deep in the perfumes
Of their armpits with the weather without any
Purpose or meaning visited through the sky that happened to be
There.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem