when the brook heaved its glowing yawns of morning into the heart's silted gully
a nest of white beasts stirs until nimbus beats the gales with clumsy weight
who is this shape in the swamp
why doesn't she blink
her bread is frozen for the moon has hidden his eyes in a raincoat
till the seas awash with colors
like your eyes in threads of day
to dance through burning hula-hoops amidst where children play
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When silly flocks of white -winged geese turn south for silver pond-ways, Never ending eyes of foxen beasts turn upward in jealous fits. Now are times of discount and pleasure, both the polarity of life. Bird and beast maximize their spaces lead by sheer impulse. - natural genius. What form! What canny. Yet I am free willing existence with no sharpness as the bird and beast. May I make the difference? Clever we are to connect the two. Flood of all beasts and bird be at my feet. Thank you great God.
wow. this is very nice. thanks for sharing it with me