(i)
You, the mighty mirror
before me, a beam.
You whined
you spun
and swirled
from threads
of patchy clouds
into a lion-winged
shrinking bird
in tit's feathers
and your wings
expanded
with stroking winds.
Hatched out
of yesterday's egg
on breezy swinging
breath and sighs,
you chirped into you
incubating you
in the pit
tossing you out
of every morning's
needle head,
the pinch that flies
you to sun's yolk.
(ii)
As for me, sun
spat night
into my face.
I shrug off myself
from the cloud
of a crow preening itself
in wiry spirals
of smoke
and balls of dust.
I broke out
of a mirror of me
by a lake,
where a hill
stood still on its head
below beaming water,
its running pace,
faster than a wind's
whistle still
blowing uphill
on a rooted rock.
(iii)
Stars in ellipses
crashed
on my cornea
barely carrying
pointed torches
to pierce through
dark slabs of day,
with a civet cat's lens
hurling out arrows
of light to punch a dot.
But sun spits
at my face
and sits on my eyes
like goo.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem