as she floated
only looking back
always be tender
with the grass
as I am
little black dress
around the room
in her eyes
who wears it
in the room
in my heart
Drank tonight at Eastern Slope, sobered up, drank again;
got home somewhere around third watch.
The houseboy snores like thunder;
I bang the gate but nobody answers.
Leaning on my stick, I listen to river sounds.
Always it irks me–this body not my own.
When can I forget the world’s business?
Night far gone, wind still, river creped in ripples:
I’ll leave here in a little boat,
on far waters spend the years remaining.
translated by Burton Watson
a piece of toast
peel an orange
watch a cat
the tree outside
for that moment
when peace descends
on the dark side
in the light