Nights shed like katydids or that is what they do:
Oh, I just want to hear the heartbeat atop of Alma’s roof:
All of her extended family living like a clutch of lucky breaths,
While the waves pullulate and the airplanes reach their
Stretch;
In the breeze of my childhood, in the candles of the saints,
I lay down like a panther on a path of stones for the featureless
Armies;
And like children on the lip of Christmas:
I wait, and wait- and wait.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem