Whose wings are these discarded by the hundreds and the thousands here flapping in the morning air, a challenge to the business end of my broomstick? Their owners, lured by its light, came here to dance their rounds around the yellow lightbulb and danced until exhausted, and then cast off their wings.
Bright and early coming downstairs I see the lawn littered with wings: Little wings the size of tamarind leaves translucent as a bead of dew as fragile as a blade of sun.
Translated from the Thai by Noh Anothai
Chamnongsri Rutnin Hanchanlash