An unexplained fragment; a ship`s finger
breaks through the crust of wet sand,
alive with the last push of tide, salt
with no front or back, horizon of wilted grass
and toy ships, blocks of war stone, teeth of a
buried dog. And if you want to bend this evening
round in a wind full of seagulls, then...
But you say;
Unlike a picture this cannot be changed
Unlike a song this is not a ring,
We wave and drown,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem