the river thinks in fish. what was it then
that sergeant henley first wrested
from it, the eyes yellow and locked, the barbels
two firehooks around the ash-grey mouth
that made even the dogs whimper?
the rapids and their raving
grammar that we followed toward the spring.
the haze-mountains in the distance,
the long grass prairie and now and then
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem