A wolf
is like a house
with two gaps gaping:
one gap
that never knew a front door
the hollow
of the cellar's vent-hole.
Through empty windows
ivy and vine creep in,
taking over the rooms.
In cellars dwells
the invertebrate
that spins and spins
its blind circular course.
Translated by Peter Nijmeijer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem