If I think of a horse wandering about sleeplessly

All night on this short grass covered with moonlight,

I feel a joy, as if I had thought

Of a pirate ship ploughing through dark flowers.

The box elders around us are full of joy,

Obeying what is beneath them.

The lilacs are sleeping, and the plants are sleeping,

Even the wood made into a casket is asleep.

The butterfly is carrying loam on his wings;

The toad is bearing tiny bits of granite in his skin;

The leaves at the crown of the tree are asleep

Like the dark bits of earth at its root.

Alive, we are like a sleek black water beetle,

Skating across still water in any direction

We choose, and soon to be swallowed

Suddenly from beneath.