On the shore with you
rivulets lap the sand
bestir times before.
the bone white brittle driftwood,
our feet crack the dry bladderwrack.
The swing of your hips
the waves against the shore.
Your eyes, pools cupped
into the hardness of the rocks
your dress flotsam as the tide rises
against your headland.
The surf traces a line against your flanks
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem