One thousand times, I take his name
I'm in love, it is not hard to tell
I crinkle, breaking into sprigs,
although my spine is bent
I am like the mouth of the fiddlehead fern
My tongue is curled inwards
making no sound, and going in no direction,
but a breaking of green gives up my secret.
O' Sakhyamuni, I am really trying
but I cannot sleep all night
Listening to the breeze beating in the peach blossom,
I dream of the hearth of his hands
Holding my body- its thick skin
My body beating
in its thick skin- glimmering
I- reaching him like a flame.
O' Sakhyamuni, it is not passion
My heart weeps for him,
He is its beating- it is love.
Says Sakhyamuni, it is with your thoughts
you learn him- look at this clock
that strikes 12 midnight- its needles are made
from the yellow bamboo bush that grows
beside the clement stream, that will really grow
into a deep forest by a year
if you let it flow.