Planting.

You’ve been knocking on the window

Because you can’t enter the house unless you’re invited.

You always say you’ll show me,

But I don’t know if it’s a gift or a warning…

One night, when my parents were sleeping,

I let you in and you take me by the hand.

Since it’s magic, as I’m told, I close my eyes.

There is a girl with very long hair

That flows down to the floor when she’s kneeling.

Hands from the back, shear it off in one go

And I look down at the wooden floor.

You are there, but you aren’t a ghost at all.

You’re the person who said to come here

And break from the past,

Forget the beautiful silk robes,

Forget the dancing fans and the koto,

And just be.

But when I look around, this isn’t the past at all

Of where the sun rises red at dawn.

Because when I stand up,

I realize we aren’t in a temple at all,

We are at a cave facing

A Red Tower that used to mean something.

And many buildings are gone,

The barriers are going up because the sun

Too will become limited.

You give me a small plant.

“No matter where you go,

Protect this plant

And put it somewhere

Where you’ll live

Until the day you die.”

When I wake up, the moon is still outside

And there is silence.

You wave and float away.

I know you’ll be back very soon.