The weather is thickened by overcast
and the rains the size of monsoons.
I consider going to the ocean
if it weren't for the sudden winds.
I'll go tomorrow. It'll be just fine.
Tomorrow I still shall be seventy years old
for another eleven months and
that's almost a full year of wisdom.
On the table, a vase filled with blossoms.
Inebriated by their bouquet I sense
and smell their vapors and listen
to the drip of dew and daydream
a path from the tip of your breast to
your underbelly where a blossom opens
letting me enter a rainbow of senses
where my feelings cascade in pearly drops.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem