My aquarium houses as many liters
of water as are lodged inside it.
Before the lodge an old man sits,
upright, elbows on the table
before him, his hands half-folded,
seeing into the valley.
In open fields there stands a tree
that is an oak, left standing
to shadow what is at hand.
Grasses; animals. Never dissolving
in himself, self-outcasting: man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem