The silence water makes,
and waterfowl on their mark.
A made loneliness,
its stream runs uphill.
The dropped stone in water,
the cars in their circles.
Reflecting the bridge,
a skein of doubt.
And water tumbles down.
You had to open it.
A mad loneliness.
You had to, you had to.
Waves die, their reach is
not what it was, when it is.
You drive the wind
with the windows rolled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is one of those poems that you get a feeling for, but you can't quite explain it you can listen but not say it back again