Because You Cannot See Him, God Is

The Sound Of The Freezing Of Snow Over The Land Seemed To Roar Deep Into The Earth. There Was No Moon. The Stars, Almost Too Many Of Them To Be True, Came Forward So Brightly That It Was As If They Were Falling With The Swiftness Of The Void. As The Stars Came Nearer, The Sky Retreated Deeper And Deeper Into The Night Color. The Layers Of The Border Range, Indistinguishable One From Another, Cast Their Heaviness At The Skirt Of The Starry Sky In A Blackness Grave And Somber Enough To Communicate Their Mass. The Whole Of The Night Scene Came Together In A Clear, Tranquil Harmony.

People Have Separated From Each Other With Walls Of Concrete That Blocked The Roads To Connection And Love. And Nature Has Been Defeated In The Name Of Development.

The Winter Moon Becomes A Companion, The Heart Of The Priest, Sunk In Meditation Upon Religion And Philosophy, There In The Mountain Hall, Is Engaged In A Delicate Interplay And Exchange With The Moon; And It Is This Of Which The Poet Sings.

Maybe Vagueness Has Been Good For Me. The Word Means Two Different Things In Tokyo And Osaka, You Know. In Tokyo It Means Stupidity, But In Osaka They Talk About Vagueness In A Painting And In A Game Of Go.

The True Joy Of A Moonlit Night Is Something We No Longer Understand. Only The Men Of Old, When There Were No Lights, Could Understand The True Joy Of A Moonlit Night.