I wanted my picture to hang
in the Unicorn Gallery, the hall of fame
now in old age
I waddle with the ducks and snowy herons
in autumn the big rivers
rise suddenly
at night I hear the waters roar
in the deserted gorges
stones pile up
to block the paths
the sail that might have carried me back
turns into a cloud
and my children grow up speaking
a barbarous tongue
as if they were only fit
for careers in the army.