The sound never comes straight,

but somehow, I can hear it so clearly.

The comet timidly passing by.

The mouth trying to inform of its passing

moves silently.

The twelve numbers, the short hand and long hand

that have regulated our living

have flown away,

and the balls with various colors are turning upside down

moving slowly above my head, beyond my toes. . . 

Well, there always IS a place out of reach of our imaginations, but

I just want to know where you are.

Thinking about the people taken away by Death,

I can’t share how it feels with them.

At the edge of the woods where everything begins,

there comes flying a needle of life

and it turns to a bright beak of a toucan

and I walk toward the direction the beak points.

Stirring / stirred,

toward this great chance occurrence on this earth.

From such a place,

the sound never comes straight, 

but the sound I have vaguely heard in this world

can be, somehow, clearly heard.