In mariana trench
a singing blue whale,
my river of thoughts
flows over my mother's lap.
The sun has lost its warmth
against the backdrop of winter's cold,
when you cry,
and embrace someone,
it’s a great relief.
Tell me the story of Scheherazade,
I will fall asleep on your arm.
Forgive me my foot,
for the wound I caused you with an axe in my childhood,
wild pigs devour
the fruit of mulberry trees.