When I kiss
my lips are tender, nimble
and my breath can be heard
in autumn forests as rivers run
you are a mouth of spring
that licks the tips of toes, fingers....
any creases to liberate edges
these things are spoken of in summer
as light storms to remember
in fertile reefs where impossible swims
and tide pools break, riding out to ancient sea
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem