Between the branches bent by snow

A drop of star is shining

Or are many stars, dozens of galaxies, 

Merging and shining?

Looking up to the infinite space

Surrounded by two limbs

Somewhere up there

There might be 

An earth-like world

Beautiful as the earth

Snow just glistens in the moonlight

Nobody’s here

This world itself

Knows neither beauty nor solitariness

The snow’s making

A sculpture “The Snow Tree”

There is the third way 

Without carving or kneading

Nature and    a few

People know 

——Giacometti and

Artaud——and that,

Without controversy or keron, the diffusion of mind

The moment the sculpture is finished

Becomes    a dance,

The whole body of movements

Integrated 

A one-off snowy wind 

From the atmosphere——

From the nature of the universe——

Condenses the rigorous form 

This tree should take

Doesn’t allow 

Any difference in the number of 

Snowflakes    rigor 

Things appear all 

By condensing    these words

Piled up too

Yes,    a pale light 

Of dawn warms it a little

A south wind only blows softly,

The tree loses its form

And isn’t restored

And at last

The dream of completion comes true

The spruce tree of snow

Only lives a few hours 

In the quiet winter night