This is above
From where you steer
And the horizon looks pale
Inside or outside
Time is like a small gasp, timeless
In an exchange, passes
The bow is pitching
The sun is on the port
When invisible in far right
The moon is readying to rise
I look and I look
And everywhere so wide
I am filled with this little
Myself, that wasn't even there
And then the light would fade in
The shine of the phosphorus
White on the moon's path
Million bits wavering inside
Time is like a small gasp, timeless
In an exchange, passes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem