rwright.txt

I am nobody:
A red sinking autumn sun
Took my name away.

Keep straight down this block,
Then turn right where you will find
A peach tree blooming.

Make up you mind, Snail!
You are half inside your house,
And halfway out!

You moths must leave now;
I am turning out the light
And going to sleep.

All right, You Sparrows;
The sun has set and you can now
Stop your chattering!

Sparrow's excrement
Becomes quickly powdery
On sizzling pavements.

The dog's violent sneeze
Fails to rouse a single fly
On his mangy back.

On winter mornings
The candle shows faint markings
Of the teeth of rats.

With a twitching nose
A dog reads a telegram
On a wet tree trunk.

The webs of spiders
Sticking to my sweaty face
In the dusty woods.

A bloody knife blade
Is being licked by a cat
At hog-killing time.

In the falling snow
A laughing boy holds out his palms
Until they are white.

One magnolia
Landed upon another
In the dew-wet grass.

As the sun goes down,
a green melon splits open
And juice trickles out.

A sparrow's feather
On a barb of rusty wire
In the sizzling heat.

Sleety rain at night
Seasoning swelling turnips
With a tangy taste.

Heaps of black cherries
Glittering with drops of rain
In the evening sun.

The day is so long
That even noisy sparrows
Fall strangely silent.

Spring begins shyly
With one hairpin of green grass
In a flower pot.

An apple blossom
Trembling on a sunlit branch
From the weight of bees.

Leaving its nest,
The sparrow sinks a second,
Then opens its wings.

Like a fishhook,
The sunflower's long shadow
Hovers in the lake.

In the setting sun,
Each tree bud is clinging fast
To drying raindrops.

Quickly vanishing,
The first drops of summer rain
On an old wood door.

The crow flew so fast
That he left his lonely caw
Behind in the fields.

Crying and crying,
Melodious strings of geese
Passing a graveyard.

One autumn evening
A stranger enters a village
And passes on through.

A wounded sparrow
Sinks in clear cold lake water,
Its eyes still open.

Amidst the flowers
A China clock is ticking
In the dead man's room.

With indignation
A little girl spanks her doll, –
The sound of spring rain.

The scarecrow's old hat
Was flung by the winter wind
Into a graveyard.

Coming from the woods,
A bull has a lilac sprig
Dangling from a horn.

The summer moonlight
Gleams upon a blacksmith's forge,
And cools red embers.

All the city's bells
Clang deafeningly this midnight,
Frightening the New Year!

No birds are flying;
The tree leaves are still as stone, 
An autumn evening.

In an old woodshed
The long points of icicles
Are sharpening the wind.

Little boys tossing
Stones at a guilty scarecrow
In a snowy field.

Standing patiently,
The horse grants the snowflakes
A home on his back.

Tossing all day long,
The cold sea now sleeps deeply
On a bed of stars.

A silent spring wood:
A crow opens its sharp beak
And creates a sky.

A cock's shrill crow
Is driving the spring dawn stars
From out of the sky.

From the skyscraper,
All the bustling streets converge
Towards a spring sea.

While plowing the earth,
All my crows are visiting
A neighboring farm.

Surely that spring moon,
So yellow and so fragile,
Will crack on a cloud!

Holding too much rain,
The tulip stoops and spills it,
Then straightens again.

Like a spreading fire,
Blossoms leap from tree to tree
In a blazing spring.

The sudden thunder
Startles the magnolias
To a deeper white.

Leaving the doctor,
The whole world looks different
this autumn morning.

I almost forgot 
To hang up an autumn moon 
Over the mountain.

They smelt like roses;
But when I put on the light,
They were violets.

A freezing morning:
I left a bit of my skin
On the broomstick handle.

A spring sky so clear
That you feel you are seeing
Into tomorrow.

A balmy spring wind
Reminding me of something
I cannot recall.

I feel autumn rain
Trying to explain something
I do not want to know.

A lakeshore circus:
An elephant trumpeting
Waves on blue water.

The Christmas season:
A whore is painting her lips
Larger than they are.

While she undresses,
A spring moon touches her breasts
For seven seconds.

The baby's hiccough
Dies down and the hum of flies
Fills the sunny room.

A peg-legged man
Stumps about in the garden,
Pruning the roses.

The first day of spring:
The servant wears her blonde hair
In a new manner.

A valley village
Lies in the grip of moonlight:
How lonely it is.

In a light spring rain
An old woman is spitting
Into a handkerchief.

A dead mouse floating
Atop a bucket of cream
In the dawn spring light.

In this rented room
One more winter stands outside
My dirty window pane.

My cigarette glows
Without my lips touching it, —
A steady spring breeze.

Settling on the screen
Of the crowded movie house,
A white butterfly.

An empty sickbed:
An indented white pillow
In weak winter sun.

While crows are cawing,
Poppies are dutifully
Deepening their red.

A nude fat woman
Stands over a kitchen stove,
Tasting applesauce.

A washerwoman
Dyes a tub of water blue, –
The sunlit spring wind!

In a barbershop
The stench of soap and hair, –
A hot summer day!

The green cockleburs
Caught in the thick wooly hair
Of the black boy's head.

I am paying rent
For the lice in my cold room
And the moonlight too.

Entering my town
In a heavy fall of snow,
I feel a stranger.

I have lost my way
In a strange town at night,
A sky of old cold stars.

On a bayonet,
And beyond the barbs of wire,
a spring moon at dawn.

Shut in the ice box,
A cricket chirps sleepily
In an alien winter.

At a funeral,
Strands of filmy spider webs
On coffin flowers.

The sport stadium:
Every seat is taken
By whirling snowflakes.

Across the table cloth,
Ants are dragging a dead fly
In the evening sun.

Creamy plum blossoms:
Once upon a time there was
A pretty princess...

Just enough of snow
To make you look carefully
At familiar streets.

The arriving train
All decorated with snow
From another town.

My shadow was sad
When I took it from the sand
Of the gleaming beach.

A small spring island
Is being measured by a
Ribbon of ship smoke.

The summer rainstorm
Drenches chickens in the fields,
Making them smaller.

So cold it is now
That the moon is frozen fast
To a pine tree limb.

The big light in the fog
Was but a little lantern
When we came to it.

In this tiny pond
The great big lake in which
I swam as a boy?

From across the lake,
Past the black winter trees,
Faint sounds of a flute.

Amid the daisies
Even the idiot boy
Has a dignity.

My cold and damp feet
Feel as distant as the moon
On this autumn night.

A limping sparrow
Leaves on a white window sill
Lacy tracks of blood.

In a damp attic,
Spilling out grains of sawdust,
A wounded rag doll.

For six dark dank years,
A doll with a Christmas smile
In an old shoe box.

A sick cat seeks out
A stiff and frozen willow
Under which to die.

Sitting in spring rain,
Two forgotten rag dolls,
Their feet in water.

The blindman stumbles,
Pauses, then walks slower
Into the autumn night.

A slow creeping snail;
Moments later I could not
See it anywhere.

As the popcorn man
Is closing up his wagon,
snow begins to fall.

While plucking the goose,
A feather flew wildly off
To look for snowflakes.

The snowball I threw
Was caught in a net of flakes
And wafted away.

High above the ship
On which immigrants sail,
Are departing geese.

The caw of a crow:
On a distant summer field
Goes a silent train.

An empty seashore:
Taking a long summer with it,
A departing train.

In my sleep at night,
I keep pounding an anvil
Heard during the day.

Burning out its time,
And timing its own burning,
One lonely candle.

The naked mountains,
Washing themselves in spring rain
As green fields look on.

That sparrow bent dawn,
Its head tucked beneath its wing, –
Sewing a button?

A leaf chases wind
Across an autumn river
And shakes a pine tree.

A flood of spring rain
Searching into drying grasses
Finds a lost doll.

A darting sparrow
Startles a skinny scarecrow
Back to watchfulness.

The scarecrow's big sleeves
Advertising in the sun:
Huge, red tomatoes!

With solemnity
The magpies are dissecting
A cat's dead body.

The creeping shadow
Of a gigantic oak tree
Jumps over the wall.

As my anger ebbs,
The spring stars grow bright again
And the wind returns.

From the cherry tree
To the roof of the red barn,
A cloud of sparrows flew.

In the summer sun,
Near an empty whiskey bottle,
A sleeping serpent.

In the burning sun,
A viper's tongue is nudging
A cigarette butt.

Droning autumn rain:
A boy lines up toy soldiers
For a big battle.

Standing in the snow,
A horse shifts his heavy haunch
Slowly to the right.

On my trouser leg
Are still a few strands of fur
From my long dead cat.

Empty autumn sky:
The bright circus tents have gone,
Taking their music.

From the dark still pines,
Not a breath of autumn wind
To ripple the lake.

I cannot find it,
That very first violet
Seen from my window.

This autumn evening
Is full of an empty sky
And one empty road.

Around the tree trunk,
A kitten's paw is flicking
At an absent mouse.

A tolling church bell:
A rat rears in the moonlight
And stares at the steeple.

Why did this spring wood
Grow so silent when I came?
What was happening?