At dawn,
I comforted myself
by saying
there is still time.

At twilight,
I know
it had not been so.

To seek refuge
in the time that is left
is folly;
better to have done
than to have
thought of doing.

I am tempted
to bear my heartache
as pure bitterness,
but
I know that there is
a blissful sweetness
that is
just as accessible.

How shall I carry
my memory of you?
Should your image
be framed in my
petty bitterness?

For you,
I know only
tenderness.
For you,
there is only love.

These passing moments
strike me as
most beautiful,
for even I can tell
that the present
will blossom
into an evocative,
eternal bitterness.

I cherish this
fruitless heartache
with renewed ardor,
as it is the only proof
I had ever loved.

The starfish
must throw out
its stomach
to digest
its food.

In this sense,
the starfish and I
are similar.

To learn,
I must
throw out my brain;
it is only through
foolishness
that I truly
begin to understand.
But how many lessons,
once learned,
can be used?

If I could only capture
the moon,
stars,
ocean,
mountains
with blue peaks
and the green
of summer
on a
sunny day,

I could convey
the peace,
the despair,
of every absence.

To which direction
does the
wind blow?
How many have I met
for the last time?

A timid flower
comes to full bloom
under the brush
of the summer breeze.

Similarly,
I have blossomed
by the warmth
of another's heart.

Each passing day
is a step down
an ever diverging
trail.

Is it useless
to wonder
if these winding paths
ever cross?

How many
will see me again?
How many
promises will be
kept?