Mist. Say
nothing now.
Much is withheld.
Little is much.
The word barely
moves barely
in the wind
that is nowhere.
Say nothing now.
Erase nothing.
In the introverted surface
of the evening. Against which
near nothing and nowhere.
Translated by Peter Nijmeijer
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem