At the height of sun-pressed summer
the tar on the seaside pavement
stuck to the Start-Rite sandals
with a sound like half-dried glue.
Gg-luck, went each step. Bliss.
Life needed nothing else.
Because we have not yet lived our life
we do not know - to grasp, or hoard -
that this - to live in the present with every sense,
without a thought, without a care -
is a totality of happiness
we may yearn for later
but may remember
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem