let me not think that sooner
this flower shall wilt
let me fathom the secret beauty
of its whiteness
against the blue sky
let me savor the opening of its petals
in slow motion
let me think of time that way
let me not be the rushing of the air
let me move like a snail
let me taste the delicious syrup of the honeybee
the white flower
the purity of your intentions
the blue sky
the beauty of your sorrow
time like a scallop
seasons like seaweeds
the hermit crab moving and meeting the huge wave
foams, and murkiness, and then you wonder where are these things
these thoughts
after a storm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem