For translation

The hardest thing is to start with a blossom, a roadmap, a partial face appearing red and illegal. I leap and barely land on you. Afraid my tongue will be caught in amber, I do not trust me to let go. All along, it's been about water, how it steadies us, how our boyancy is pliable in all angles. We did not account for drought. Even though it rains, my body is occluded and cataracted. You are floodgate and waterfall. When the water vaporizes, how will we see each other without bending light, always bendable light?