yesterday you said you dreamed
of swings and a carriage,
a little blue balloon
like a cummings poem, while
the sun lit up like a bar sign.
all gone.
the sun comes up, a dream.
and there is breakfast on the stove
she is saying what happened
the way no one is ever sure
what happens.
cut string.
lone balloon in the sky,
blue against the blue background
she lost it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well that makes sense- makes sense of- the hoe-rising-line