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.