Green river, you are an incessant, rolling voice, birds’ silence
On the plains, you bestow the morning star on night travelers

Amidst mountains and hills

You bestow a belt of sunshine on climbers

Seemingly motionless, in fact running forward
The same applies in reverse

I almost no longer hear the sound of wind as a soaring eagle spreads its wings

But on my heart, river, you ceaselessly crash and splash against boulders

My sketchbook is filled with various specific images of you

You laugh at fixed categories, saying: “Which section of the river
Is truly myself?”

This is not a question, no need for an answer

I smile at you, you are my brother, I like you

That reckless, dashing vigor, you have gone through all the twists and turns yet
                                                                          not changed, you are yourself

No such thing as truly, no river would care about the names imposed upon it

You are a river, and that’s enough

You have helped find my lost youth, thank you, brown-skinned brother

If not for your wizardry, I would have never encountered true love