Wind was high—your face tilted up
It gave your hair a lift, disarming,
Drowsy—gradual and deep
I love a gale, a lively girl
Swooping on me.
I cast glance
To your face, a nameless pang
Gripping my heart, I might have the
Seizure, I loved this seizure often.
I entered the hut lit almost,
May be half-lit, you came shuffling
Along, a false reality, a bride. In the twilight.
Forgive me, I love the wreckage aftermath!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem