This forest in May. It haunts my whole life:
the invisible moving van. Singing birds.
In silent pools, mosquito larvae's
furiously dancing question marks.
I escape to the same places and same words.
Cold breeze from the sea, the ice-dragon's licking
the back of my neck while the sun glares.
The moving van is burning with cool flames.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem