they have written
almost everything under
their sun
there is nothing
to remember and copy
perhaps i will just
stay here and think for
myself
what happened here
and what is going to happen
later
i can tell the mussels
on the swamp the way they
breathe water
i like the wooden boat
tearing the river into
shreds
there is still joy in
diving 60 meters away
upon a cliff
someone has to rake the
dry leaves and then you
feel clean
when the rain comes
something is always
renewed
the nipa roof of this
hut and the silence of
the trees
something is missing
always missing
i still wish i know it
now.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem