Sunday, 19 April 2015


In the yellow night; in that Edo night and he with pipe,
Yellow and blue bath robe, between the fingers;
Through the window behind him

The painting of the girl hanging
On the wall like a rifle, glints.
And also this moment and I myself.

The yellow sun rises on an age of gold,
Now the mad moon baying like an old crone,
The golden sun sets behind the hill

Beyond the streets, the leaf of the mulberry
Becomes satin in time. Dreaming of night rain
In the Ba Mountains I sweep it all up,

Things related and not. Lightning, flint lights up
These well-kept passable false paths.