and so the moon
in its fullness finally kissed
the face
of the river
and the river
shimmered
as though it felt the coldness
of the rain
the moon asks the wind
if there is something wrong
with love
the winds hushed
as though something happened
as though
kissing is shameful
when it is done with the fullness
of desire
the grasses
who buries everything
past and future
as usual, are as silent
as though
nothing is memorable
like the indifference of the stones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem