All the secret meetings
ended with no conclusion;
all the planted shadows
have been buried
of those who came at night
through the darkness of the forest
where the blossoms
of the black-magic trees
drift onto an invisible scroll.
Little rats disguise
stocky tiger cubs.
You're no good at all,
O long, O far side of the Moon.

Secrets hiding
in the needles of the trees
how long will they hide
O long, O far side of the Moon!

Syllables are burning,
letters issue out in the smoke.
Smoke that makes formless shapes,
letters that make shapeless structures.
O far side of the moon!

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