the crashing expanse that would sing the ocean's bowels,
grounds belly to sand, with ever increasing tempests
the shadow of parasols sinks slowly down
swallowing lenses film what escapes the senses
the body looks well and white against the riptides,
useless words against timeless ancient rhythms,
while strapped on cameras are the muse that stirs-
the sky's painting waves, within apertures of coastline..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem