I watched the light tumble down through the sky,
tangle in branches, flapping in desperation to break free.
Within this tangle, this wild melee of tree and wind, a bird song carries.
Is it really within the rocking crown? I cannot see the singer, just hear the song.
The ghost bird, held in a sycamore cage forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem