An earthy scent
rises, when―
you rain in me.
The hole in
heart. Naked
as salt of eyes.
My roving boat
sinks near
the banks of ashes.
Pure and white
like snow
you fall on my lips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mushrooms in the forest, under the leaves of another season. A season when the football players practiced without pads. When the swimmers let the mat of hair on their legs grow back. Please make me soup. Please remember the salt and pepper.