Describe the Wind,
Say something marked by discomfort
That wanders many cities and harbours,
Not knowing the language.
Be much travelled.
Start with nothing but the hair blown sideways
Unglue the fog from the woods from the waist up
And speak disparagingly of leaves.
Be an old man blowing a shell.
Blow over the glumness of a girl
Looking up at the air in her red hood
Then come down glittering
With a pair of ducks to rooftop.
Go on. Be North-easterly.
Be enough chill to ripple a pool.
Be a rumour of winter.
Whip the green cloth off the hills
And keep on quietly
Lifting the skirts of women not wanting to be startled
And pushing the clouds like towers of clean linen
Till you get to the
Wait for five days
In which everything fades except aging.
Then try to describe being followed by heavy rain.
Describe voices and silverings,
From December to March.
Describe everything leaning.
Bring a tray of cool air to the back door.
Speak increasingly rustlingly.
Say something winged
On the branch of the heart.
Because you know these things.
You are both Breath
And your mouth mentions me
Just at the point where I end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem