What did you make use of
to sense me beneath the lamp.
Were you wanting to stroke this ball of light.
One hand
could set the scholar trees of the whole city ringing.
But
all fingers are drooping.
Your hands flutter, unpredictable.
It is transparent.
Does the red in the wick
also look forward to light.

What season is this
all lamps
are dimmed.
How could I be a ball of light.

Your gaze darkens, goes out
we stand in the same shadow.
In these years of your unconsciousness
I have always
handled
our common difficulties with caution.

Those difficulties
enabled you to recognize me straight off.
From the mountain top dense with miseries
your meagre waterfall spreads, sparkling.
In a world quite unworthy of laughter
I finally saw you smile.