Saturday Moons
a free self-translation by the author
Two Saturday moons with me, one over the raincloud,
the other deep in my mind. In our worldly life,
to say the least, each defining moment is a dojo.
As if ten days ago the cherry plums were in full bloom,
purple sage waving on the CBD kerb the year before last.
The listener is distant and elusive.
The moon is stuck on top of the rain cloud.
On this spring night, you are the first author or reader
of a mystery I have conceived and written —
Spiritual mists cover our world, the moon full of colours,
lotus-root fibres pulling elephants, today, in new colours.
Mozart, with love’s fidelity and weakness.
I speak of the moon, Basho woke up early in the morning with
a wish list: looks like we’ve got a day with rosy clouds.