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Miho Nonaka-IV

Harvest Moon




These days, I don’t go outside.

They say, not so long ago, it was only

in the mulberry trees woman met man


for amorous purposes

during the harvest season.

I am an amateur, meaning I only do things


for sheer love of them. Hamlet

is no more than a tiny village

like the one I live in now.


I won’t go outside; my silkworms

have turned all the leaves into

a whiff of snow. Listen how


under the leafless boughs,

the sage and the drunk

sing of the moon and blossoms


pale as parasites. Listen how

the night boils each song inside

a cocoon. Don’t go when you crave the heat


of another man. Paradise opens only

in this somewhat freely

translated landscape.