The vertical slashes of the birch trees
and the horizontal lines of the patterns
on their trunks somehow made the swipes
of blue sky between the slender trees
seem amplified, surreal, pulsating.
And when I looked up
at the same aster-blue sky,
domed and unshadowed,
the color looked as it might have
when as a little boy
I first saw it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem