Fish speared by a wounded dream, taking her
Away from me-
The cost of hours upon the house, whose dousing
Charade sinks into me-
This time a wound singing up the fire,
Frightening the angels from the weeds:
They’d sing so far away-
Evaporating into the nature of all human beings:
The baseball players on their knees,
Calling to her nature through the wounded trees.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem