Yes, I can't help feeling here that there is something like gaudiness: like over-explanation that becomes so thick it gets wispy. In a way, I want the poem to be starker, to have lines of evocation standing in sharp relation to each other:
If I’m an Eddying Pocket in a Stream
you're like a leaf—you simply slipped away:
“Forever yours!” you cried inside my pool.
And then you slid between my twiglet-tips
back to the streamlet ripples scurrying south . . .
I sank into the barrel of my mouth
but tasted your remainders on my lips.
What I think I miss in your poems is something fragmentary: elusive: silence, really. I wish you let the breaks, the gaps between the moments in, to let the reader's imagination work, instead of feeding them up with detail. Maybe it's that element that made some of your poems always feel a little "quaint", somehow: not quite in the same universe as where I live: which feels harder, crueler, and lmch more fragmentary than the universe in your language.
Hope this helps.
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