Salt was a trap laid so still at night, around
her blush so pink, frail bloom hid the eyes of heaven, softy
dripping is necktie in dew form.
A branch of eternity, blows her wind, I tumble in to the scents
of her yesterdays, washed clean, by her breath.
The bamboo sighs, in regret, sprouting one more long leaf.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem