I don't remember dreams, except in fragments;
Like a novel one might dip into on a train,
A chapter opened at random, a page or paragraph
One reads to test the prose or scraps of dialogue,
When interrupted by a memo or task still left undone.
In this dream I noted decades ago, a scrap of paper
Which turned up yesterday when I was looking for a pen,
I caught an image from amnesia, like an arresting phrase
From that unread novel one has stowed into the bag
For other trips in the journey without destinations.
My note ran thus: Dream Image of a Chasm, like a tunnel,
At the end of which there is a sea, darkly azure,
And far away, a ship, a speck, so starkly white.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem