The pines are suddenly thrown into light
The meadow bursts open
Withered grass burns under the sun inexhaustibly boundlessly
Light poles are strung in a graceful line of insulators
Stretching in the imagination all the way to Bearing City
A water-clear seaweed-blue sky
The human wish to be purified by it
Larch trees bud once again, brought back to life
A translucent lark sings its hallucinatory song
The aquamarine undulations of Mt. Nanashigure
Also give gentle rise and fall to the mind
A single clump of willows
Those willows along the banks of the Volga
Move by stealth into the malachite bowl of the heavens
Upsurge, severe and unrelenting, at Yakushi Rim
Snow at the mouth of the crater folding in on itself
The sharpened ridge of Mt. Kurakake
Hoisting nebulae into a blue sky
(hey, Quercus
is it true that they nicknamed you
"Backwoods Tobacco Tree")
Why have I been so graced
To spend a halfday walking at my leisure
This grassy field and shining dome
I would even forego eyeing a lover
For the blessings of this cross to bear
(hey you, Backwoods Tobacco Tree
you could be labelled a Futurist
if you don't stop that bizarre dance of yours)
As I rustle my way between the ditch reeds
Forest and field's true lover
Modestly folded green-coloured reports
Find their way into my pockets
As I walk the darker sectors of the woods
My arms and trousers overflow
With the imprints of crescent-moon lips