For once, in the Grand Shrine,
Mouth sealed, I listen to the prayers,
From Gods of mountains and wine,
The Big Dipper, Neowise,
As their voices shiver and chime,
Taking refuge in the fickle minds,
Of those who have different ways,
Of those who share the same day,
All to the red torri gate:
Some will make it, others late.
For once, in the echoes of dreams,
Eyes closed, I hear the flute of the vagrant woman,
And her daughter’s intermittent screams,
As the bridge hole weeps under the crushing freights:
“Have mercy on me, my anonymous friends.”
Come to me, for once,
As time, unbeknownst to us, dies,
And we have nowhere to hide,
In the blink of the eluding light,
Of ancient rocks,
That will take,
Six thousand and eight hundred years,
To come back.
