i have kept the last leaf
of summer
inside the hands of my
solitude
shaped like a cup
my fingers fall in love with
the dews
the morning after i hear
the song of a white bird
about the birth
of a seed. And the sun
comes
and the clouds spread
what blueness
is there and oh
i have seen a lot of
caterpillars waiting
the next thing i have seen
after a sad season
are fluttering butterflies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem