Every morning the snow mountains will fill up my window
before the sun rises. Automobile sounds turn down the volume
of night to the minimum, yet the shadows of cherry blossoms
will at any moment replace the shadows of time.
 
Needless to say this window had been taken by the winter
but returned to the spring. On the window is a piece of paper
that tells fortune, but it will say the same thing whether you poke it
or not. On the paper is a small hole of poetry.
 
And because of this small vent you can see much further than me.
You stay remote but faithful to the contradictions around me.
In Beijing, I would think toward west when it’s about snow mountains,
but here in Kanazawa, I must get used to the east where snow rises.
 
Every morning I see from the window
the mountain range that slowly raises its flag,
and then the sun will take its turn to climb the ridge of
the snow mountains while its golden needles stab the nerves of all.
 
2011. Kanazawa