Here in my hut on Surabatchi
I think of you down below in your winter garden
Bending in your blue kimono to watch the goldfish slumber
In their pools beneath the bare Jackaranda tree,
Its fallen blossoms reminding me
Of your eyelashes covered with little hoods of snow.
This spring I hear the melancholy notes of a Shakahatchi flute
From high on a cliff,
Float across the surf like white gulls.
I kneel and put my hand in the sea
As the sun falls into the lap of the dusk.
I know there is hope we will meet again,
I think of you in the summer kneeling in the tea house
Gazing at green leaves in at the bottom of your small white cup,
The hem of your our kimono trailing on the pine floor,
I know you think of me while
Outside the breeze lifts the petals of the chrysanthemum.
Your longing sighs lift and fall with them,
And the sad moon is a silver cat
Leaping from rooftop to rooftop.
When the summer throws its shawl
Across the shoulders of old age,
And I see you stooped in the cherry blossoms,
I will come running to you
Down the slopes of Mt. Fuji,
My arms thrown wide
As the valleys of Koryu,