今晚我是多么想念你啊，沃尔特·惠特曼，因为我走在树下的街道上，心里很头痛，不自觉地看着满月。在饥肠辘辘的疲劳中，为了形象的购物，我走进霓虹水果超市，梦想着你的枚举!多好的桃子和多好的半影啊!全家晚上购物!过道里挤满了丈夫!妻子在牛油果里，孩子在西红柿里!——还有你，加西亚·洛尔卡，你在西瓜地里干什么?我看见你，沃尔特·惠特曼，一个没有孩子，孤独的老邋遢鬼，在冰箱里翻肉，盯着杂货店的男孩。我听见你在问他们:谁杀了猪排?香蕉多少钱? Are you my Angel? I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective. We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier. Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight? (I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.) Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely. Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage? Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?