The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952–2009

The Day Small Birds Vanished from the Sky

93 The Day Small Birds Vanished from the Sky 空に小鳥がいなくなった日 (1974) Morning It is morning again, and I am alive Totally forgetting my dreams overnight I see the bare branches of the persimmon tree sway in the wind I see a dog, with no collar, lie in a pocket of sunlight I was not here one hundred years ago I will not be here one hundred years from now The earth must be a place beyond our imaginations though it seems so ordinary Once upon a time inside a womb I was a tiny tiny egg Then I came to be a tiny tiny fish Then I came to be a tiny tiny bird Then finally I came to be human having lived hundreds of billions of years in nine months We need to revisit that, too because we’ve only been looking ahead too much The cold clarity of a drop of water this morning tells me what a human is I want to share this water with fish, with birds and even with beasts that might kill me 94 A MorningTakes Shape What has tormented my mind since last evening appeared in a dream like an endless barren land Somewhere in the dream my alarm clock rang My dog was wagging his tail beyond the glass doors The sunlight shot sideways at a glass on the table There it was, it was morning The morning was bright that day, too. Its light bared me to all the corners of my soul frighteningly clearly I could no longer fool myself I said, “Good morning!” I felt the words keep me from harm The morning was there Cold water rushed out of the faucet The smell of miso soup filled the room People were intent on walking in all the walks of the country I saw the morning take shape surer than happiness, brighter than hope Inside Myself Inside myself is a profound cry that makes my mouth shut up tight Inside myself is a night that will not end that makes my eyes open wide 空に小鳥がいなくなった日 • 1974 The Day Small Birds Vanished from the Sky 95 Inside myself is a stone that goes rolling on that causes my feet to stand still Inside myself is a circuit that is closed that causes my mind to open Inside myself is something no metaphor could express that causes my words to be written down Inside myself yes, inside my own being are flesh and blood that bind me to you That causes a man to be so alone like this separate from another The Day Small Birds Vanished from the Sky The day beasts vanished from the wood the wood held its breath in silence The day beasts vanished from the wood humans kept building their roads The day fish vanished from the sea the sea absently undulated and groaned The day fish vanished from the sea humans kept building their ports The day children vanished from town the town was ever more bustling The day children vanished from town 96 humans kept building their parks The day humans lost their inner selves they looked very much like each other The day humans lost their inner selves humans kept believing in their future The day small birds vanished from the sky the sky wept silently The day small birds vanished from the sky humans kept singing unawares™ 空に小鳥がいなくなった日 • 1974 ...