Mistranslations 

Stones are raining

Mandarins drip from my lips

            and I know you also missed

the cumulous flight over the steeple.

So take this carved cane chair, my favorite,

turn it up-side-down over the cornerstone

of this house, while I’m in the shower

drowning in steam.

Pebbles with a story

            I carry them all under my left arm,

tight against my ribcage. I don’t turn

back my eyes. Go ahead, plant yourself

under palms, scourge your flesh with sand.

I’m waiting for the sky to split and for the grass

to stage a rebellion. Don’t you see?

Circles are piercing squares. Fit or break.

My thighs drip rainwater

I backstroke from this whirlpool,

reach the riverbank by skipping on boulders.

            Against the current every time. Why not?

But if you ask me, green eyes

have the coolness of a blade. So I live

inside thorns and at road-ends.

Where is the rock that floats? I need to find it.

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