doumen

translated by PLS

with the muttering face of the plateau

i walk by this place

running into a few looks from the past

though not yet bleak

copying a few simple words:

the gratifying waves, windows and distant mountains

the arcs frozen in the gaze

has no weight

but real identifiable

traces of time

these glimmering compositions

sometimes expand into larger clouds

let all clear or blearily swaying shadows

disappear from here

one year, five years from now

the driftwood in the window will retreat into winter

the pulsing of the mountains moored at numerous borders

and strange miracles 

never distant nor close