The water droplets spray
their confusions of syllables
childhood memory returns
with the salty taste
of early vowels and consonants.
The cormorant is silent at sea:
on the rocks spreads its wings
in sunlight
I drop my arms, having blessed the day,
marvelling that childhood
has so little and so much to say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem