for Cindy Kawahata
The Greeks were right;
it is a place of darkness,
so heavy with mist that even Charon
could not steer a path to your destination.
Where is the promised guide?
Or is that the myth they tell us
so we won't fear being unbearably alone?
Everything we love assumes
a distinct shape that we cannot see
until it approaches us on cat paws, unafraid.
That was life then.
Now, you feel a familiar brushing against your leg,
and bend to touch the head purring softly
in this eternal night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem