In the moonlight, I'm haunted by rue;
At noontide, the waves crystallize us,
But how could this be if we were nothing?
I assume that is the freedom of inaction.
You said your body would be mine too,
If and when I'd come only inside you.
That should, then, be for him to discover.
I was before him, lower number as a lover.
When the streamline pulls out,
And everything is left to loll about,
You'll see the emptiness in being finished;
That precious image will have diminished.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem