On the plains behind the cliff
An unsheltering wind
Uproots the shrubs
Gives way to cane beds
Even in mid summer
Seagulls
Flee southward to hunt

Without planting a tree
I can leave my body and go
Near one of the traps I’ve set
On the third day the moss hides
Within forty days the ice petrifies

To become so atttached to a  dream
To expand the saddening wastes of the city
Even when her picture has decayed on the table

Before a new thunderstorm arises
One should pull the boat ashore

translated by Suat Karantay