Half in the sea, half in the air, borne up
a chimney on and looking down
the inquisitive fingers of waterplants
Bum in the air, back to the clouds
flippered feet, aquatic equivalents
but heavenly bodies overhead
to motionless fish, busy being there
smooth around the bones, eyes always open
and no idea about the withering drought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem