They watched each other's voices from the reef into the sea,

When the salty sea is above my head,

Their arms turned into fins, their backs into plate armor,

The two loggerhead turtles are like newborn babies.

Quietly to the bottom of the sea,

Waiting for another island to rise from the sea,

And the eyes on the island.

Where the eye can see,

Breathing for thousands of years, static stagnation hundred things,

Time with those eyes, counting the rhythm of the body,

7.8 times per second, which is the Earth's frequency,

And the yearning of the Earth, you are a butterfly,

Break open the cocoon of the body, twist a pair of faint wings,

Vibration with the Earth,

Frequency, only, "8 Hz."

Once familiar island,

Do not attract them ambiguous migration,

Watching from afar, but can't wait,

Repressed legs that return to their original form,

To be lost is to go with the flow,

They decided not to step into the undercurrents of interweaving

"Lost in Waiting."