When I was young
I found the urn
of a fairy in the woods—
an empty beer bottle
filled with flakes of dew
and morning moonlight.
I knelt
and prayed for her
to become a sylph
then watched the sun
ascend her sprinkled body
into the sky.
Now years later
the wind
still slants this gentle rain
towards my wrinkled face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem