Picking up,
the moon,
from a creek,
watery shadow,
silvery tears,
esconced in,
the the waterlilies.
the sleepless koi,
the gliding joy,
in my dream,
a widening net,
spread,
everyday,
over a gurgling rivulet,
salvaging,
your smile.

Meteor shunting,
in the sky,
with a bucket of dream,
she is a meteor,
in the city,
and the meteor is,
the broken dream,
of the sky.

Wind
plucking the strings of
the bare branches
coldness filling
a goblet
a story unguessable's
had its ending
love collides in the time and space
becomes incomplete
a heart
intoxicating
a universe.-

In a pure world
music and birdsong
spinning
the lingering
melancholy
no more sadness
only memories
and longings
prostrating on the trails
of yellow leaves
counting the rhythms
of loneliness
the handsomeness of the island
the dreaminess of
the susurration of the beach
the elegance of the sails
the water as always
beating the stippled quietness
awaiting the next dawn
a ketch drifting on the ocean
shining a turquoise light
portraying the poetry
of the predawn
or the predawn hilarity of
the fish and shrimps
in the ocean
this is a pure world
and there is music
and running water in it
and the samisen of moods
and the psaltery
of the nature
whats more
the happy pixies shuttling
in the forest
of purity.

In the theater
under the indigo curtain
of night
the lovely fruits still have
the wings of leaves
dazzling earrings joggling
shining
in a night
punctiliously built
by you
behind you is
a sodden wall
like the part of the world
that is cold
a song without tears
is the shrill of rocks
on the precipice
there's
too much imagination
trekking.

The lullaby of cicadas
has put the village
to sleep
at this moment
strips of waxen haze
swaying
every household
slowly.

Where to find,
another self,
time,
rinsing memories,
now,
trying to escape,
the thoughts of,
the times,
to go to the barren desert,
to icy antarctic,
to a one-man territory,
where there's only,
you
and your shadow.