Стихотворный перевод задали( я не поэт, ? the cloud-mobile above my face is a map. continents form and fade. blue countries, made on a white sea, are erased, and white countries traced on a blue sea. it is a map that moves, faster than real, but so slow. only my watching proves that island has being, or that bay. it is a model of time mountains are wearing away, coasts are cracking, the ocean spills over, then new hills heap into view with river-cuts of blue between them. it is a map of change. this is the way things are with a stone or a star. this is the way things go, hard or soft, fast or slow.