to the fig piercing through a rock
In between our hands and love
stand mounds all the time
for thanksgiving women
letting go of its hold from a slope
indeed it is the soil with no rain
through one yard to another
as you pass by like cranky horses
women get through kids
every man from one breeze to another floats
love within the mounds above all
not necessarily seeing the end of the tunnel
from time to time a man’s brain harbors
especially in place of sexuality
should you be the one replacing love with it awkwardly…
Translated by Mesut Senol