They flow in these blues:
The thoughts which mountains have,
The dazed carnivores—
The way I looked at
you
Across the rooms,
The great basins and wombs
Of glacial tears
The flower shops
The bees stumble through—
I stepped on your ring finger
Like a root
Growing over the carpet in some classroom—
These things I’ve never had,
Thoughts which cannot be explained
In the blink of an eye
As you walked away.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem