The Memory Poem by Robert Rorabeck
The Memory
And what an illusion—the things that smile
Just as the sun gives off the rays of a crocodile—
Smooth embers coiling to the flesh
As angels go to greet airplanes:
It is their wish.
Their father son has cast them down as tears,
Like sadness cast away—
They refract across the entire articulations of
The sea—the kaleidoscope of her freedom
That hides the memory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/6/2024 7:36:52 PM # 1.0.0.1119
