A Tanka Prose
I've pursued my poem throughout the night. The soft patter of rain tapping on the window. I gaze upon the ellipses at the end of the poem; they speak of falling into spaces untold, unknown, and strike me with their longing...
in the sky
a scribble of swallows -
as if
writing keeps me
away from myself
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem