The stamp of your footprints
makes a path,
and disappears al the edge of the water.
Imperceptible tracks,
far away, traces,
little cracks
in the sand.
Who can describe these marks,
almost erased
by the white wake?
Only those who know your tread,
the shape of your soles,
the pressure of your stride
on the road.
He who has taken a mold of your feet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem