summers follow summers
and it’s easy to
get lost trying to
approximate the
figure of the
contour of life
its sillouhette
surreptitions a little bit
out of you with
every moment,
but there is beauty
in the sea and its
taciturn tide that
breathes and
moves with the moon
and returns,
without fail,
to cover the
shore in whatever
it has to offer—
you can’t do much
else once time gets
trapped inside
your bones
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem