The misty whistle turns to abut on my turbid hands
Swimming up in the whinning web settles down somewhere in solitary port of longings.
Had I got the moment once for all
Amidst those watertight talks
I might have resumed a little bit
Abreast in the atmosphere of riverside winds rimy trill
folding the fabulous reed in your eyes
just before the sunset
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem