We should remember later on
this simple act to mutually pamper
this bench which we are laying on
hot temple near burning temple.

From hazel tree’s stamens from
White poplars the embers sift.
Any beginning wants itself fecund and florid
to wastage indulges in the Florist.

The pollen abounds in ourselves and mounts,
in front of us are growing yellow mounds.
Through godson gold
our souls unfold.

While talking, pollen in our mouths abounds
in our eyes when word’s not found.
But we don’t know what kind of sorrow
will stumble our spring and follow.

We should remember later on
this simple act to mutually pamper,
this bench which we are laying on
hot temple near burning temple.

While dreaming we can catch unawares
longings latently inside of golden cares
forests which indeed could be alive,
but inside of us they will never reside.