Like brother and sister
This streamy water
And what runs ever by it
For a path of stones.
So does it when does she
Swerve off, straighten he.
Accumulating one kind of
Autumn-mislaid gloves.
Til both, evening toward
Sun-aligned, westward
Merge, part-wise, as a pair
Of unmissed unknowns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem