The snow slants
against his motion:
he tilts into the wind
white ghost in a white land
searching for the sun.
His strongest compass now
no longer the heavens open
above him, nor any land
mark to guide his steps.
With realities and imaginings
whiter and harsher than moonlight
he must resolve to walk
towards some known world,
seeking what he cannot see.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem