Flor
In the murky silence of the closed house
the flowers slowly die with no one to change the water.
I like to thonk of them talking in these last days,
in their ancient perfume-voices, these most independent
creaturesof the earth, more so the wild flowers
in the brightest coats, speaking softly in he semi-darkness,
philosophing or romanticizing the imminent death.
I would like to be old, lying on the sofa, listening
to their scent-speech, doing my own waiting.
Poema d'Sparrow in the Baker's Dust,de Leroy Cardwell
In the murky silence of the closed house
the flowers slowly die with no one to change the water.
I like to thonk of them talking in these last days,
in their ancient perfume-voices, these most independent
creaturesof the earth, more so the wild flowers
in the brightest coats, speaking softly in he semi-darkness,
philosophing or romanticizing the imminent death.
I would like to be old, lying on the sofa, listening
to their scent-speech, doing my own waiting.
Poema d'Sparrow in the Baker's Dust,de Leroy Cardwell
Comentaris
les flors moren lentament
sense que ningú no els canviï l'aigua.
M'agrada imaginar-les parlant en els seus darrers dies,
amb les antigues veus perfumades, les criatures
més independents de la terra,
i encara més les flors silvestres,
vestides amb les jaquetes més lluents, parlant en veu baixa en la penombra,
filosofant o romantitzant sobre la mort imminent.
Voldria ser vell, estirat al sofà, escoltant
el seu discurs odorós, esperant jo també.