The River Too Is Drenched

To escape from my own hands
one day I ran headlong
to the river's edge.

Suddenly I see shadows slipping into the water's depths.
All twilight's shame the water drinks with tenderness.
Wind comes, cutting ripples,
thin waves racing in their grey clothes.
Anklets chime with each step—whose, I cannot tell.

I had come to get wet, to find peace,
but wet I did not become. Crossing the body of liquidity
step by step the river came and pierced this chest.

All the burning hidden in the folds of my heart
the moment it merged with the water's body
the river departed in its wet form to its own address.

I had gone to wet myself,
but wetting did not happen; instead I discovered
that rivers too get wet in time.