what most he talked about
was a record of the actions he chose,
walking under the cover of dawn
cold winds, and silence of the streets
somewhere in an old city where he
was all alone,
buttoning his shirt, zipping his jacket
covering his head with a black scarf
taking his time to think what to do next
under this anxious circumstances
he puts his hands inside the pocket of
his pants, and then moves on....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem