The pines are suddenly thrown into light

The meadow bursts open

Withered grass burns under the sun inexhaustibly boundlessly

Light poles are strung in a graceful line of insulators

Stretching in the imagination all the way to Bearing City

A water-clear seaweed-blue sky

The human wish to be purified by it

Larch trees bud once again, brought back to life

A translucent lark sings its hallucinatory song

The aquamarine undulations of Mt. Nanashigure

Also give gentle rise and fall to the mind

A single clump of willows

Those willows along the banks of the Volga

Move by stealth into the malachite bowl of the heavens

Upsurge, severe and unrelenting, at Yakushi Rim

Snow at the mouth of the crater folding in on itself

The sharpened ridge of Mt. Kurakake

Hoisting nebulae into a blue sky

(hey, Quercus

is it true that they nicknamed you

"Backwoods Tobacco Tree")

Why have I been so graced

To spend a halfday walking at my leisure

This grassy field and shining dome

I would even forego eyeing a lover

For the blessings of this cross to bear

(hey you, Backwoods Tobacco Tree

you could be labelled a Futurist

if you don't stop that bizarre dance of yours)

As I rustle my way between the ditch reeds

Forest and field's true lover

Modestly folded green-coloured reports

Find their way into my pockets

As I walk the darker sectors of the woods

My arms and trousers overflow

With the imprints of crescent-moon lips