late winter

The fields where sesamum has ripened
and now lies dry delight the doves;
the mustard turns to brown,
its flowers giving way to fruit:
the wind scatters the hemp
and makes the body shiver with its drops of sleet:
travelers, quarreling in empty argument,
huddle about the public fire.




The cold beauty of the moonlight fades as though
from lack of luck in love;
for no more is it met by laughter of the waterlilies;
its darling moonstone, overlaid by frost,
no longer sweats with yearning;
nor is it welcomed by the eyes of lovers
between their bouts of love.