Seen from this big-wheeled running rickshaw
Fields and mountains blur to mist
Willows from our windy passage
Into green revulsions twist
And brown-eared bulbuls
Through the wheel-spin disappear
Vanish in the dizzy hazing
Of the half-wheel’s hemisphere.
Beyond that daze a strange long landscape
So far away
One feels as though the world’s most lonely
Flute had quavered
Try as one may to bear this feeling
Ah it is unbearable.
Birds and willows sink from focus
As the flute begins to pull
And the spring’s vague greens of promise
Drain into the beautiful
Of the unattainable.
Image: Landscape, 1827, Urakami Shunkin, Minneapolis Institute of Art