My friend told me
When the spring wind blows.
We can see a witch.
“Does a witch really exist?”
“She does!”
“Because my mother is a witch.”
“You’re a liar.”
“It’s true.”
“it’s very easy
To fly through the sky.”
Someday,
About the huge moon night,
While we were looking at the moon
From the window,
We were standing the sand of Arizona spring.
We were standing on the sand that has nothing
And looking at the sand that has nothing
And looking at the moon.
We only found one.
We plucked a dry grass
And we came back immediately.
That grass we brought back
Has a warm smell
That I’ve never smelled.
The witch
Put it in a bottle
And kept it importantly.
“Is it very important?”
I asked.
“Next to you,
It’s my vision.”
She said.
I don’t understand.
The witch went somewhere
And hasn’t come back since.
So, I can’t ask.

My friend that told me so
Always shared her secrets.
We can’t make
Secrets by ourselves.
If there is a person
Who can hide each other’s secrets,
A secret will be born.
If we have the same secret,
I prefer a big one.
I’m tired of human talk.
Are you a witch, too?
You always visited from nowhere.
The magical words that you wrote
On the ground.
Please tell me again.
Having a secret is
Similar to obtaining treasures of the world.
She told me so.
My friend is no longer here.
The witch story that she flies in the spring wind.
The small witch story
That she walks playing tricks.
She punishes mean fellows.
She is always spiteful.
Talk to me about the wonderful witch story.
The magical song written on the inside of the hat.
That song I finally learned.
I can’t remember it anyway.
The mysterious song.
Sing with me.
And,
Let me keep a secret again.

On the spring ground,
Life and death
Are living nicely,
Holding each other’s hands
Are sleeping.
They are sleeping because of it.
Good night.
Good morning.
Good-bye.
Good afternoon.
Under the dry lawns,
The white fresh roots
Are growing.
It’s growing
To try to capture something.

In the returning road,
A streak of sunlight points at the empty asphalt and
A puddle laughs.
The sun illuminates a gray sky,
The rain is over.
Leaving  behind
A puddle...
How much rain
Fell?
Look, about this much
Only the puddle knows.
It rains as much as it can.
By now, in the sky somewhere
It is carried across by the blowing winds
Traveling.
Does it want to come again?
It will never come again.
All the rain
Only once.
Never again.
Only once
Traces of rain.

A light walks slowly across the horizon.
It steps on the ground and dances with the earth.
While it sings unboundedly,
It brightens up the sky.
It comes close to you and throws its light.
At that moment, your soul becomes bright.

Light the darkness;
However deep the darkness is,
However endless the darkness is,
The light is never too small.
Your light is sufficient to light that place.

A light comes slowly across from the horizon.
A boat sways with the waves.
A melody sings cheerfully.
A flower of stars shines bright.
The light comes close to you and throws its light.
At that moment, your soul becomes bright.

Light the darkness;
However deep the darkness is,
However endless the darkness is,
The light is never too small.
Your light is sufficient to light that place.

When I see the clouds shined by sunset,
I have to go home now.
When I see the bird’s shade,
I have to go home now.
I have to go home.
It is sad.
Why does today end here?
See you tomorrow?
Tomorrow and today are
Different.
Today is only today.
Tomorrow is different.
Today’s me doesn’t exist
In tomorrow anymore
And, neither does today’s you.
There doesn’t exist
Today’s touch anymore.
Nobody knows that
Today and tomorrow are completely different.
That’s why
I cry
In this evening.
In the shiny bright evening,
Today is closed.
In this time,
When a bulbul’s voice
Slashes the sky,
It is the same feeling.
All that I’ve earned,
I don’t need.
The annual fleabane’s white bouquet
That I gathered
Is withering
In the hands
Like the letter that was never read.
I’ll throw it away onto the meadow
And run away
In order not to be seen by the first star.
To be honest,
I want to be absorbed in the dark sky
And disappear
Because I can view the uninhabited vacancy
From the sky forever
And I might even see today’s back there.

A turtle dove walks holding a twig in its beak,
Stops briefly.
Looks around.
Walks again.
One twig.
It is an important one
In order to make its nest.
It can easily find
The right twigs
In this time.
If I were a turtle dove
and made my nest,
I would be hectic
and run around
gathering many twigs
at the same time.
Even though the turtle dove
Was laughed by
Clouds and wind,
It doesn't hurry up.
Something fixes everything.
Everything will just fall into place
because it knows that.
Slowly
Like hit or miss,
It will carry
Valuably and slowly
A twig that
It catches in its eyes.
How did it decide to make a nest?
The female that lays an egg?
Does it really wait for him?
Will its egg really hatch?
You just make a nest because spring comes?
I don't think so.
I recognize if I see its eyes.
The turtle dove has confidence
And begin to make its nest.
Its eyes
unshakably clear.
God's promise is
kept there.

The wind that looks like its missing winter
Shakes a ***** willow.
Nevertheless, I can see
The shiny sunshine warming
Dry lawns.
It reminds me that you said.
“Feel the wind that hits your ankle.”
No, I said, did I say so?
I who is forgetting everything,
Have forgotten all my important things.
While the next season is coming,
I was permitted that
I stay.
While I was depending on a short time
And looking at something that I couldn’t finish writing,
I found an old letter.
You who I’ve never met gave me
A long courteous written bouquet.
Surprise, appreciation and impression
Flow
Because I hadn’t realized the person who looked
Inside my work so importantly exists.
I feel sorry that I forgot
The existence of the person
Who gave me encouragement
That said to me “be a poet.”
Your words are
In my body.
You look at me and talk to me
Like you capture
An emotional aurora
That is my bone space
That nobody can see.
You and I were permitted
That we were rewarded this.
I haven’t had this wealthy happiness.
Thirty years have gone by.
The strong ties that haven’t cooled down are
A sneak date by two people
Who love poems meet
In a tacit secret place.
Finally,
We get our forgiveness of living people surrounding us
That is our encounter.
The place that spring winds are born.
I want to live there
Because nobody can live.
While I’m looking at winds every time alone,
You cherish me
From the place that I can’t see.
I receive a written bouquet
From you I’ve never met.
I can’t stand thinking of
The day that these things will disappear.
Please always stay at that place where the spring winds
Are born.

The flowers are yellow.
The down is white.
Their color is a yellow and white gingham check.
Butterflies fly and play with stones.
Small shoes step over the jagged leaves
And kick the down.
The squashed leaves smell sweet.
The yellow flowers’ bright eyes
Assure us happiness.
The white down dreams of
Far away
And waits for
The time when
It is ready to depart.
The grounds embrace
The two lovely sisters
And smile.

Now,
In the silver rain
I'm walking
Everywhere.
In the obscure rain,
On the water that is flowing along the asphalt,
I'm walking.
Ordinary
is everywhere.
Nothing really standing out,
I'm walking this road.
There are no likes and dislikes
Because there is only one direction.
I'm walking.
This road
Will float in the universe
Because I think so.
As if legs
Like wings
Like songs
Are walking.
Beyond this road,
There are many facts of my character.
In order to meet many sides of you,
I'm walking.
There are no likes and dislikes
Because there is only one direction.
I'm walking
This road.
There is no front and back.
Just to where
The heart leads.
If it keeps raining,
If the sun shines,
It doesn't matter.
Because there is only one direction,
I'm walking
This road.
If there is nobody,
If there is nothing,
It doesn't matter.
If I'm sad,
I'll accept my sadness.
If I'm pleased,
I'll accept my pleasure.
Both of them are the moment
Of illusion
Because there is only one direction
Just to where the heart leads

What exists is
This road
I'm walking on.

If I walk in a sunny park with someone,
I can go there.
If a stranger asks me a direction,
I can go there.
While I’m starting at someone’s eyes,
I can go there.
There is nobody
In that place.
The secret garden
Which sunshine flows.
If we breathe
Grown ****’s sweet smell,
We can go there.
If we listen for
A faint voice,
We can hear it.
More than a flower comes out.
More than a butterfly falls
That faint voice.
The voice says.
“Don’t lose exiting things
In the river of time.”
“Don’t give up what
You have tried to capture!”
There is that place between a word and word
That time can’t reach
Like this garden.
So, In order to listen to the voice,
I’ll go to the secret garden.

From the gray sky where brightness is increased,
Cold rain falls.
“I am me.”
Enjoyment is where the wind blows.

Cold rain
will carry and
will carry people's tears.
Tears that weren't shed and
Tears that were shed
gathered up
One grain at a time
Changing to snow.
A heavy object into a light one
Dripping
Wafting
Wafting
Dripping
Dripping
Wafting
One grain at a time
Soundlessly
is held by the ground
melting away.
Surely from there,
Grass sprouts
Supple green
Daughters.

One song
Carries me
To a time far away.
This old short song

Shakes in a high place
Like the top of an oak tree.
It uttered in a gentle voice
Then, told me.

Someday,
People who you liked
Were illusions.
It told me that.

The illusions that my mind made,
I just pursued.
The story that I liked,
I just liked.
It told me.

There was nobody
Except me.
Nobody exists
j\Just me and my shadow.

Grass trembles.
A tree's shade was played
By sunshine and wind.
A lemon fell and
I just laughed and looked.

Spring days are
Sunny and rainy.

Warm and bright
Hope takes off.

Cold and dark
Sadness soaks through.

Two things
Jumbling together
Spring can be made.