I lay still in the fire.
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Oh, the grass. Burn in bed.
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Blackened ash.
|
|
A cold sound rustled in the trees
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Pulling limbs.
|
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The smoke rose. The smoke rose.
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It'd come to make a mess of things
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And throw a storm of burnt flakes,
|
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Lifting to the air the floating world,
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To let them go silent into the ground
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Where all things make work of coming back.
|
|
I lay in the ground, wait, lonely for you.
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My hair grows, nails grow out
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And I count them as they go
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One, two, three, four, five, six
|
|
Break into air.
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Set themselves between the blades of grass,
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|
-----------------
|
Hanasakajijii (Two: Floating World)
|
| Anathallo |
