Cold
green
headlights
fill up open space
between mountains in dead winter.
Silent forests shutter a
dreary sky. "How far is the pond? " you ask, as we skim
over icy leaves, nearing the embankment behind
the old bridge, almost frozen in
fog. By the river,
a white deer
sinks in
pale
sleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem