7 The moon, a flower

The stars, high in the sky,

Drape, faintly, round the moon;

Silver fills my whole eye:

Quiet, as the crickets croon.

I lie down on soft ground

As one enters a tomb,

Searching above—here, bound—

For futures to consume.

It appears, in the east,

Full, like a lover’s light;

Distant, I know no feast:

Sorrow covers my sight.

I yearn, yet I learn not;

I give myself to rot.

From soil, through leaves, jade stem,

Peeking through to blossom:

I admire just one gem

In that bloom, so fulsome.

Violet, vibrant, dazzles,

Just as time slowly crept:

Dry, it withers, shrivels;

Knowing, why had I wept?

Day, night, I wait to gaze

Upon it, only seen;

Hoping to feel, always,

Its petals, only mean.

I pray, yet I stay not;

I know: myself, the plot.