When night comes,

                I am so flushed with wine,

I undo my hair slowly:

                a plum calyx is

        stuck on a damaged branch.

I wake dazed when smoke

        breaks my spring sleep.

The dream distant,

                so very distant;

        and it is quiet, so very quiet.

The moon spins and spins.

The kingfisher blinds are drawn;

                and yet I rub the injured bud,

        and yet I twist in my fingers this fragrance,

        and yet I possess these moments of time!