***
When I came in front of the national poet's statue, the florist showed me her breasts, a lost dog was crossing the street obeying the traffic lights, and the windows of the central library fled off in the world.
The pollen is an ambiguous mister, speaking a blue language of which she understands only the verbs at past tense.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem