In and
out of the
artists' shops
ships at
rest in
the sleepy
northern bay
Rhythm of footsteps
muted on the
summer streets
Sudden cool
in the
bookshop- the
musty scent of
a rare find-
cooling our heels
at the water's edge,
we count our
trinkets and
treasures before
moving on
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem