As If You Were On

Writing Poetry, We Live Among The Wild Beasts, And When We Touch A Man, The Stuff Of Someone In Whom We Believed, And He Goes To Pieces Like A Rotten Pie, You... Gather Together Whatever Can Be Salvaged, While I Cup My Hands Around The Live Coal Of Life.

Give Me Your Hand Out Of The Depths Sown By Your Sorrows.

Everything Is Ceremony In The Wild Garden Of Childhood.

And The Verse Falls To The Soul Like Dew To The Pasture.

Cómo Se Acuerda Con Los Pájaros La Traducción De Sus Idiomas?