There is a lake in my heart.
Its water whirling
in the beat of my breath.
This is only started from a small spring.
Until it expanded
and stopped from growing.
It is not at all linked with the Pacific
Or the winding river.
There are no fishermen disciples here
troubled by the coming of the gales.
There are no fishes, no slight traces
even of life.
No human or animal had been drowned here
except for those ancient dreams,
unuttered words,
and forbidden love
which I only made to float
on this insipid and placid
lake while a good walks on.
