Ode To Walt Whitman

Phillip Chee

[from the last stanza]
Sleep now: nothing at all is left.
A dance of walls now shakes the meadows,
and America is inundated with machines and tears.
I wish the strong winds of that deepest of nights
would rip flower and letter from the arch where you sleep
and that a black boy might announce to the whites of gold
the coming reign of the wheat.

--Federico Garcia Lorca (trans. Carlos Bauer)


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