We'll keep it a secret. This moon
three-quarter. Fireflies flickering
in the hedges. Crickets repeating
deep mantras. Water flowing down
our bathing bodies. The iris
pool to let the moon take a closer
look at our nakedness. And this jackfruit
tree that turns every night into a
dark tunnel, opening inside a sleeping
poet's head. And though everybody
knows that nights are kept in tiny
jars, we'll stash this one away, way
back among the folds of this dark valley
where it's dimly visible on moonless nights.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem