[narrow is the cloth]
narrow is the cloth
between the beloved, the bride
nights were night-trysts watched
offered, the custom
the breast: these bodies weftless
names of love now spell
return, and return to our
the whole day until
we are not come to the cave
you'd be asking where
tell you that now, come the cave
and storms; trees giving
feet clogged in dew- drenched, tangled
shadow is lying
dragging their weight on the pine
hiding fox dyed maple's leaf
three years are over
from the shadow of that grass
illusion, old rags
even if we weave
our beautiful desire
we will show forth now
no need to be asked. see her
grass gates, hedge between
lie, body, unknown
a fit thing, I stop
take foot, move through the world.
but wild is that river, that
the cloth she wove is
at last they forget
is faded away. narrow
even now are not
a faint charm only, binding
lodging. evening sun
dusk pushing aside the grass
cutting grass on hill
the dew is while the frost's lying
up their leaf, spotted sudden
leaves perpetual
alone owl cries out
among the orchids
they have left us this
past all that is a story
see how they come forth
with the new grass in the field
the cloth, set up the charm-sticks
will not pass, nor fade
in dream, our form repentance
within the cave, like
them, a symbol, night
to any other man, old
thinking love, charm- sticks' decay
we had no meeting.
torrent of the hills
faded, the hundred thousand
they forget. wands no longer
cloth will meet over
come together, true
together of pine
leaves a shadow.
we
have spent
from the overgrown
set your mind on this matter.
here on the road. who'd
showers. autumn. our
shadow is lonely mountain
from the ivies drag
chrysanthemum flow
that pair gone into the cave
look there to the cave
and appear for an instant
they make grass-cloth, world
for a thousand nights
die out in our faint substance
carrying wands, she
cricket-noise of weaving grass
night has already come on.
wood buried in moss.
rumor of our love
a thousand nights and more die.