Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsSpring 2011 v10n1
translation by Patty Crane

Like Being a Child

Like being a child and an enormous insult
is pulled over your head like a sack;
through the sack’s stitches you catch a glimpse of the sun
and hear the cherry trees humming.

But this doesn’t help, the great affront
covers your head and torso and knees
and though you move sporadically
you can’t take pleasure in the spring.

Yes, shimmering wool hat, pull it down over the face
and stare through the weave.
On the bay, water-rings teem soundlessly.
Green leaves are darkening the land.  end