my poetry is not
the kind of tracks that deers
put upon the grass
that each
tread upon
you do not have the kind
of nose that dogs have
your sense of smell is not
that keen enough
to say that i am inside
the confines of
every word in every
poem
deers
those wild ones
are too keen
to sense even the
disturbance of the sands
by a lost worm
it skips and jumps
over the river and the next time
you see it
it has become another
mirage
in the desert
do not trace any part of
me in the past
for i am no longer there
i could be that
deer
at the other side of the
river
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem