Translated by Miriam Leberstein (2010)
At dusk, every leaf
yearns to be a bird.
So I walk around with a jug in my hand
gathering their tears.
On the river,
the shadows of the trees
are already embracing,
their heads touching.
Soon the dogs will start to bark,
slashing the silence
with long swords reaching to the sky.
Soon the dogs will start to bark --
the jug trembles in my hand.
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