Wounded bird: I hold you—
Now you sing, out of the window
Like a child of my kidnapped home:
As I remember the scars
Of my reflection,
To the soft lullaby of the waves called to
The bedside of a richer man:
That all of this is my plunder without
Sunshine,
In the night when the pools are blind:
And I lay beside you again in the darkness:
Muse of stolen opals
And birthday presents—The Christmas
Trees are in the trash and in the gutters:
The stolen bicycles have been abandoned to
Jewel the necks of canals:
As very soon you will be waking up over
Then—brown eyed with
Browned eyed children, kissing your man
Like glass blown in another world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem