It comes and goes like a hummingbird
or snow in April.
When it goes there is a hole
and when the wind blows everyone can feel it.
When it comes the wind does not stop
but turns warm and moist with promise
like the landscape as Spring readies its empire.
It comes with a grip - tight
squeezing thought to a point
It goes, leaving me to feel everything;
until one day nothing comes or goes
and the bright release is all that is left.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem