In Translation/


There’s nothing better

In this world of disarming contrasts

Than to bide your sweet time

On the salty days


Of a waning summer

In the sultry southeast

With a collection of short stories

By an esteemed South American writer


But if I had my druthers

Which are boxed down the basement

Next to jars of dried gumption

With my riding crop, pith helmet and jodhpurs


(It’s a long story, most of them are)

I’d put my lips to your page

And trace the horizon of your voice

As I cross the equator


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