Futon Making

In the sky, the crescent moon like one slender eyelid
You use a bat umbrella
Turned into Japanese cuisine

From the pier you look at me
Like starring at a faraway ship
In your kimono breast pocket
The drying palm of my hand

Let us quickly make the futon
Before the night ends
And our dreams turn to dust

The mayflies swarm the dying town
Your dream home, the trembling house
Is that the figure of the one leaving?
Is that the figure of the one returning?

Stab the knife into the red fruit
Your shadow enlarged upon the wall
You no longer feel like a person
Like a something that lives at the bottom of the ocean

Let us quickly make the futon
Before the night ends
And our dreams turn to dust