Bright,
brilliant
falling star,
wingéd warrior
rushing from heaven.
Shade and shadow and night
cannot extinguish your flame.
You tear off a piece of the moon,
set sail upon the wind, and rain down
wearing a crown of illumination.
You plummet into the breast of the sea,
a lamp in the chamber of her heart,
burn her inimitable depths,
and then faint and fall away.
Every now and then,
we can glimpse your crown,
under the waves,
reflected
by the
moon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem