In the spring I met with the afternoon of the same river
When I found that the sorrow inside its body
And the hidden language of its gestures
Were surprisingly similar to someone else’s tragedy
Once I went so far as to open my mouth and speak the dead’s secrets
In summer or even when it was colder
I kept silent or when I walked alone on the bank
The person who liked swimming at night
Acted the way a bird did in the water
On many occasions I go upstream along the river in search of a shoe
Because no one understands how to talk with the river
A lone snow crane on the water does not know whether to step forward or backwards