Fish size of pinhead darting
going against a slow stream
gliding, drafting with pebbles
i wonder she's going, instinct
refusal to be carried by current
could she be large; eaten by carp
tiny frog pumping her throat, nice
like bellows; eyes protruding; mole
i mimic her stands; maybe it's funny
sun is kissing my neck from easterly
i can hear swirling blades; high pitch
my friend here doesn't mind; frog line
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem