Looking up at a low
drifting cloud
A form begins to take shape
that I now cannot see otherwise
A familiarity
from within myself
There now
upon something else
Truly there are infinite possibilities
when my fat crane cloud
to another could be
distinctly the shape of a bending elm tree
Which often is the case for I amongst others
And for those amongst me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem