The birds seem to wonder about song,
Chattering through the train tracks in the trees:
Where, oh where is Vachel Lindsay,
With my fat and luscious hibiscus all stopped up in its
Room,
And science class just a memory- a way to get out of
Here:
Outside my window the green smoke of a fishtail palm,
A house for chameleons the size of churchyard cats and
Dogs,
The roaring of light through the sun-washed fronds:
And the Virgin of Guadalupe in a grotto against my left ear
Who I pray to for Alma:
To her for Alma I pray, while the cars leave for all of
Their destinations
Through each and every day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem