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Coiled around you is he—
Before my lips reach yours
He is also coiled around me.
A POLISH GIRL
You carry the dishes in your hands But your thoughts are elsewhere:
As if you inwardly knew
That your body has the pungent taste
And that your hair carries the fragrance
A small tree Always surrounded by mist, More often dark but sometimes light— Very light, almost made of light. Yet even then between the branches There is shadow, a wavering gloom.
Like pools of light.
The horse stumbles,
Miles and miles you traveled.
A wise brown bear
With a book.
In your small warm nest you heard Bells rung delicately; and strange calls.
We built you a little house.
As I wandered through the eight hundred and eight streets of the city,
I saw nothing so beautiful
And the blood-red linings glow like sharp-toothed maple leaves
Under the plum-blossoms are nightingales; But the sea is hidden in an egg-white mist, And they are silent.
The pool is edged with the blade-like leaves of irises. If I throw a stone into the placid water, It suddenly stiffens
Into rings and rings
Walking beside the tree-peonies,
A YEAR PASSES
Beyond the porcelain fence of the pleasure garden,
TO A HUSBAND
Brighter than fireflies upon the Uji River Are your words in the dark, Beloved.