On the moment-past’s wide wind-
tossed ocean of the bed
tumultuous waves of bed sheets lie.
Not even a surreptitious breath
disturbs the complete calm
disorder after the storm.
I am at the window
looking out at the morning’s
cold camellias catching fire.
In the tree
a disordered choir
of birds is singing out of tune.
I turn to seek
some harmony within
wonder for a moment where
your dishevelled shape
will ultimately wash ashore.
Turning my back again I see
only one bird chirping in the tree
and the camellia’s fiery glow
already quenched in shadow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem