I should write one more poem for April
and one more for the rain while there is still
something called rain
because it might vanish, the philosophers say,
and there are no promises of more.
The month is almost done
another minute gone and spent.
Lately I have been dreaming
of everything I haven’t done yet -
hills not climbed and lovers not kissed
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem