State and Madison, Chicago.
Saturday, high noon.
Shoppers in melee.
Surrounded, I give up.
Against the curb, I see
suddenly the sea foam up
and in the distance
white birds soar and glide,
black apostrophes
cleaver split
but still tangential,
rising, falling.
Then the stoplight
flashes green and I
prepare to sally off
till I look down
and see against
the curb the great
white waters bowl
as one by one people
drop and drown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem