Flood of a song—lilac at the foot of my bed: meager art
Wasting away as you do,
While outside they are having fun—they are betting on the
Highest stars which are just amusements
That will fade like ours:
As the overpasses come alongside of our bed posts—
Racing headily next to the anthills
As paper snowflakes fall—illusion of a world of foxes leaping
In the lamps of a zoetrope,
Making zebras of barber shops—it rains a little,
The engine idles,
And the Virgin of Guadalupe sits at your doorstep waiting for
The cat to lick her feet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem