there is a way
always to detect if
the water has
a fish, though the
river is brackish
and murky. even the
mussels in the mud,
even the shells on
the sands, ...the
stars in the heavens
are obvious at night,
the winds that carry
those dead leaves
plucked from the life
of the trees,
the sun fading sinking
to the depths of the
horizon, ....
there is a need to
spend time, to simmer
yourself, and be with
them: shells, mussels,
fish, and sand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem