Fishers buried the moon in the waves of the sea,
a sailor perceived the Great Bear
with his magic small telescope.
In the black tar,
man with the white locks,
with shoulders burdened by the canopy of heaven
and plunged in crystal dreams, lives.
The high flight of the eagle measures
the greatness of the yellow flowers and the extent of the water,
the mystery is born from waves, from lost angels.
The eyes watch in the night of smoke
as two brilliant stars,
shiver of love dies palely out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem