Sometimes, The Spirit Moves
and a sense of awe catches hold
for seven breaths
then lightly lingers
where new designs stir
with the switchable force.
Once hidden by still fields,
are plenty of eager plum trees
flowering wide-eyed, for warm breezes
and the current across an old range
of fresh direction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem