Work Text:
We sit wanting in staid Summer,
Waiting under that scorched sun.
When the wolfberries dangle so
Like little lanterns of light from
Our first chance meeting under
A sky marred only by a magpie.
For abundant Autumn
To slake our longing,
To unite
That which was
Divided
By the mansion of the stars.
You and I weave
A tale everlasting,
We hope.
And dream
Of two cranes,
Soaring
As we adore the dappled
Harvest Moon.
From that same heaven
Descends Winter’s bitter hoarfrost
His voice, crisp and calamitous
Against the calm of unglazed porcelain.
Each year, twenty-four guests we host in turn,
Each more solemn than the last.
We wonder and wonder and wonder and wonder and wonder
If this will end or if we might end. Not even the
Syrupy persimmons, cultivated by our tender care
Can relieve the sting of stagnation with their cloying embrace.
Without you, I find the effigy of a crippled cuckoo,
Its call long since lost to a memory of when you were here.
But still
Before I know it,
One day I hear
The striking, strident song
Of a gander in the garden I once shared with you.
Across the pond too shallow to sink my wistful, wretched form—
Floats a flurry of felled peach blossoms, and a reflection of that aching, azure sky.