Hills bathing in the blue street lights that the students
Carry home to, uncradling books and classroom covetries-
And from their thimble like studios they look
Out at Lesbos blowing out her candles of the girls who might have
Been from their very same high school:
They too were up to no good, but making a recipe of naked gold
Down two stories in the communal pool:
Like wood that had learned to strike fires where the otters live,
And the cars were turned off, so the billboards were selling their
Thunderbrush to the very night:
Helicopters and airplanes taxied, stewardesses stripped of their
Metamorphosis- and the essence of life floating there, for a moment
Legless, serpentine, but making love in a good way to
Her sisters while the night leaned nearer in its bachelorhood-
And the forces took over, expressing themselves indefinitely to the
Then vanquished daylight of what man had to say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem