I sit, I wish
for the glistening moon pools
to sprinkle down my way.
Dreamy starry sky,
and the soft combing breeze
sings sweet lullabies
to the indigo trees.
Sing the same to me,
and I'll go where you go;
river so wide,
wider's my window!
Now dance as you've done
so many times before;
embrace the morning sun's
broad rays on your shore.
Far banks shall appear
with the coming of April,
and strike out I will
through the dusty rock passes
through mountains of yellow
and bridges of gold -- until
I gain the city of friends,
lamplights and streetlights
and buslights and doors
will be closed.
Gone, then, are the wishes
and wonders and wants,
the things that I hoped for
a long time ago.
The trill of the strings
(my only respite
from keen madness
or a tantō
to wish me goodnight)
rises on palm-tops,
floats in cool grasses,
gives purpose my soul.
So much peace I find
in warm charming moonlight....
Tomorrow, concern may put your course
on a laxed and lumberous way,
great river of the dying day,
but as long as my will goes on,
and the wonderful will of the Maker,
those fleet-footed brigands
won't catch me, for I am
faster than they are.
...Calming storm,
you stirrer and squeezer,
present most of the time that I need you:
Set my mind,
for all its vain attempts;
make me relent,
and I won't deceive you.
Till then, I'll be leaving you soon,
but know my April blush
is the same color as in June,
and the fabric of all that I hope for
is the cloth of the comforting moon.