to Clausius
Every morning
I escape the quilt
as a hatchling
of the shell.
Every morning
I pass from crowd of black
in crowd of blue.
When it rains
rain colors
and crowds of black and blue
fill with puddles,
puddle of colors.
Everyone
is a brush
an unseen painter
is drawing stripes with.
Sometimes it rains only in black and blue.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem