Translation Poem by Morgan Michaels

So, I translated him
What else?
A man like him, a lady like me-
Literary love it was
covertly sexy, everything
you'd not expect.

I translated him, yes.
Many a night given, the
words
flying about like bats in a lamplight
getting in my hair,
under my fingernails.

I translated him-
not at all, all, but, some.
It's a manly language- quite alive-
shimmering like the flanks of horses
full of sambas, whispers, chortles
and limitless banks of soft grass.

He was a nice man-
very quiet and shy:
sad as the night is long.
His poems smile wryly.
I met him once, outside a restaurant. He
kissed my hand. We went our separate ways.