Behind one cloud lies a sleepy face
bleeding love and it wakes hungry;
and the moon is positioned delicately,
overhead as it shines and it beams.
Standing below I'm looking up at the
moon, patient and still I trust wonder;
while one limb over there,
creeps up through the moss and the
wind pushes the limb up through it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem