In the casual ripples
of the stream a fish’s eye
like a pursed nipple
drifts, staring at the sky.
At the conjunctions
of small green patches of slime
the body of the dead fish
follows, spinning all the time
on its axis like an obsessive wish.
Spins round and round without a sound.
The sluggish green water, no breeze
stirring the sky-green canopy.
In a soundless twilight of trees
where the dead eye stares fixedly but cannot see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem