At a glance, not oneself was visible,
unaware of branches' stretch
but a hint, a shadow: moving foliages
, and leaves of september.
Till the chasm fronting it, submit
itself to summer rain and midnight cry.
At a glance, not oneself was visible:
Only a fissure beneath the cumulonimbus
covering it with lapiz tears, three meters
deep, and not oneself invisible.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem