Flashlights landmarks
Sunlight yellow
Snow white feet frozen
In purity of the dead silence
A bird will perch
From the pines
Nothing else will happen
A mountain climbing echo
Wing-like beats dug in the sky
Closing down
Blue cloud breath broken
Ends the day in a flake
So easy to die and melt
A bird will perch
From the pines
Nothing else will happen
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem