Translated by Canaan Morse
I know you remember those bound-up carboard boxes.

When the spring tide came, they floated in every hallway,

light and rigid, like the model ships boys carry.

This once brought me peace,

as I have only two hands, as do you,

we can’t take it all. 
But may I tell you, how I can hear

the sound of them sinking?

though we had thought they would ride the current,

go before us, all the way to the deep eddies

of paradise, and prepare for us

countless tearful gifts. 
May I tell you they are disappearing,

dropping through purple kelp

and schools of migratory fish, through whirlpools

and layer on layer of candy-delicate sand? 
May I tell you

they now lie wordlessly beside me; and that

nothing ever was destroyed,

but simply gone from the water’s surface?