To a Woman in Her Home
after Kotaro Takamura
The compass of my heart’s monsoon aligns itself
With you, my love.
And the night’s cold slips beneath its
While you, love, sleep peacefully there in your home.
You sleep with the trust of a child asleep, a truth
Transparent and pure,
That banishes the heart of darkness.
Virtue, baseness, all are unveiled before you.
Surely, to one whose transcendent judgement,
Child-like clarity, discerned
A worthiness in this, my unworthy life.
How to fathom what you saw in me?
All I know is that your certainty
Transfigured me to joy,
Engendered faith that what you saw,
That unknown me, could be
Real, here in the flesh.
The leaves from the zelkova elms have fallen.
The night is hushed.
And now my heart’s monsoon begins its course
To you, my love,
Like an extravagant, artesian spring
Gently swelling from its subterranean lair
To drench you, every inch of you, your skin.
And as you stir, this vasculation
Surges, swirls, revels,
And encompasses you,
My love, my font of life.
While you, love, sleep;
Sleep through the night’s cold trespass;
Sleep peacefully there in your home;
With the trust of a child,