Translated by Adam J. Sorkin with the poet
Without knowing the bounds, he lives beyond them.
Great green oceans of leaves blanket the sky, the earth is
a blue expanse. The wind is overpowering
in its verticality.
Where is the fir forest floating? Into what valleys does it subside?
In which lagoon of the sky will it run aground?
Schools of whalers navigate the sky. Or is it he who crosses the sky,
flies high over the ocean?
Where does the sailing ship end, where does the road begin?
Where is the end of the road, the beginning of the journey?
Not knowing any bounds, he seems boundless himself.
In the sky, without end, the blue whale, blue-winged,
hunts schools of whalers.
In the sky, or in the ocean of fir trees. The forest moves onward,
or the whirlwinds blow away the skies of leaves.
Originally published in Cider Press Review, Volume 1.
