Why do we go to the sea,
for solace? Here, at the vertical
edges of the steady place we stand our lives up on,
we have to assume repeated storms'
savage attacks to the surface of land
mass. And then, the sand flat opens horizon,
splitting the rocky chaos from flows.
I know people who feel like this, talk like it, sometimes.
Even so broken open, grit holds the assumed interior.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem