Sharp outlines of the water’s edge
are blurred by mist:
edged in grey, pedantically he strides along a ledge
of light, pompous illusionist,
and disappears from sight,
gulping down his image as he goes.
Over the pond the frail light
hovers as the darkness grows.
As swarms of shadows pass
over the water from the trees
he reappears, perfectly at ease,
steps stirring in the pond faint sounds like cracking glass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem