We meet through rising sea-breath.
Alike but strangers, 
sharing these minutes, 
you might know me? 
Your green, my green, 
your eyes, my eyes.
The atmosphere a holiday, 
its vendetta 
playing back mental tapes, 
and just as the record head touches, 
a gull screams, 
and you are deleted.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    