Nothingness seems to be
its having opened
or gleamed
with the breeze in the blackness
And it is not a dome
or furrows
of night
But there is a vision
almost
like a tense stem
that barely gleams
and it is all a burst
that disseminates
inside itself
And thus with the shadow
it transmutes the shadow
and thus for us it breathes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem