Veer off the national highway onto the prefectural road,
turn left again onto a village road and come to the end
“Me” lives there
It’s a “Me” that is not myself

It’s a modest house
a dog barks at me
some vegetables are planted in the yard
As always I sit on the ledge of the house
a cup of roasted-leaf tea is served
no greetings are offered

I was given birth by my mother
“Me” was birthed by my words
Which is the true me?
I am sick and tired of this topic, but
as “Me” suddenly starts to wail
I choke on my tea

The shriveled breasts of a senile Mom
that’s the dead-end of my birthplace,
says “Me”, sobbing terribly
But as I gaze at the daytime moon in silence
it slowly begins to settle in my mind
that the beginning and the end go farther than that

The day has ended
Listening to frogs
we fall asleep in futons placed side by side
both “Me” and I are now <the sparkling dust of the universe>