I won't let words rest.
At times they feel ashamed of themselves
and want to die, inside of me.
When that happens I'm in love.

In a world otherwise silent
people - ony people - chatter away.
what's more, sun and trees and clouds
are unconscious of their beauty.

A fast-flying plane flies int eh shape of a human passion.
Though the blue sky pretends to be a backdrop,
in fact there's nothing there.

When I canll out, in a small voice,
the world doesn't answer.
My words are no different from those of the birds.

54

I grew unwittingly apart
from the world in which I was born
and can no longer walk again
among the things of the earth.

We know that even love is a possession,
but we can't keep from praying
that life will go on.
And we accept the poverty of our prayers.

I can possess nothing,
though I love
trees, clouds, people.

I can only discard
my overflowing heart -
hesitant to call that an act of love.

(Translated by William I. Elliott and Kazao Kawamura)