Whirls of wicker and calico,
of turf and salt,
of cats and fish.
The eyes of those
surprised by sudden depths
are bitter and open.
They drink sea under the glass
of a cracked tide,
in green tunnels of waves.
The water children flail under a sea moon.
The sea drags across the dark silt,
hear the bell, hear the bells.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem