On the riverside
there are flower shade and red petals on ground
The water is clear, the streaming-away past
is like waterweed looking back, flowing and pausing
In the tone of insects, the rhyme of autumn’s steps
darken the burning red of summer
The farewell of phoenix tree
combs the pigtail of wind
Silence, yet clear in heart
The thing that ought to happen will eventually happen
In the evening, who will
step into this transparent scenery?
Neither green butterfly, nor red dragonfly
but an orange leaf
wrapped by a sudden gray memory
into running water, the wave holds up
another layer of life
Think of remote Veda
Think of dust on the road at noon
The woman knitting on balcony
The mother tongue sliding from pinpoint, the mind
walking between balcony and room
back and forth silently
While a thread of passion, still ties to riverside
Five fingers of autumn
press on the keys of music instrument of the Earth
forcefully and simultaneously, producing chords
Any type of feeling at this moment
is no longer simple