Darkness gifts a song.

The shadow brings its sharp part.

With its small and angular shape, abrupt,

The shadow flops on its gut on the ground.

The kinder the wind, the faster the candle flames out.

Your shadow pokes my heart—

A wasting away that will disappear.

Following the dark river, when we walked

Someone sang a hit song that no one’s heard for years . . .

Like it wasn’t even dark,

Like the night wasn’t even late,

Because it was dark, suddenly

We all wanted to sing, that is,

Even if the wax already covered the wick.