From that little wood,
finally,
forever or for a long time,
the mushrooms disappeared.
It happened gradually,
over maybe thirty years.
And now, when I recall
their disappearance, their "departure,"
it seems like one grand movement,
like — the hushing
of one very long orchestra,
one very long choir.
Translated by Sarah Valentine
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem has really created a orchestra of remembrance.