and what a brief and fleeting dream it was?

will i cease to be,
or will i remember
beyond the world,
our last meeting together?

Izumi Shikibu

last song

the unspoken question











endlessly asked



the last meeting










happening all over again





Meredith Monk - Last Song


S.B. wrote me that my post reminded him of this great song.
He also added:

"When does time run out?

When will we go?"

yet even if it be so

My Lord has departed
And the time has grown long.
Shall I search the mountains,
Going forth to meet you,
Or wait for you here?

No! I would not live,
Longing for you.
On the mountain crag, rather,
Rock-root as my pillow,
Dead would I lie.

Yet even if it be so
I shall wait for my Lord
Till on my black hair -
Trailing fine in the breeze -
The dawn's frost shall fall.

In the autumn field,
Over the rice ears,
The morning mist trails,
Vanishing somewhere...
Can my love fade too?


Longing for the Emperor
by Empress Iwa no Hime ( - 347 AD)

self-portrait with crescent moon

When I take photos I float

on the verge of myself.
I am many.

Larger than myself
yet I enclose myself no more.

I who is otherwise
filled to the brim with the past
learn to walk through the things
of the present
soundlessly but not quietly
until I am
a body without a face
a heartbeat without a body
the thin edge of light.

Stay with me, my fever,
dance with me, my pain,
swirl me into the shape
of what is being born
now.

When I take photos I float
float to the crescent moon

the white moon
until the soft cloud that I am
I am
casts her shadow upon your face
your pale face
you look up

slightly bewildered
stroke your skin
that skin
as if you tried to guess
what has just touched your soul
that soul
you only catch a glimpse
of my hair
my dark hair
in the mirror
in which the world
meets the world
and that too will soon be
gone
is now

gone.

When I take photos I float

on the verge of myself.
I am many.
Larger than myself
yet I enclose myself
no more.


I who is otherwise
filled to the brim with the past
learn to walk through the things
of the present
soundlessly but not quietly
until I am
a body without a face
a heartbeat without a body
the thin edge of light.

Stay with me, my fever,
dance with me, my pain,
swirl me into the shape
of what is being born
now.

When I take photos I float
float to the crescent moon
the white moon
until the soft cloud that I am
I am
casts her shadow upon your face
your pale face

you look up

slightly bewildered
stroke your skin
that skin
as if you tried to guess
what has just touched your soul

that soul
you only catch a glimpse
of my hair
my dark hair
in the mirror
in which the world
meets the world
and that too will soon be
gone
is now

gone.

(gratefully remembering how the first time I took the camera in my hands
felt like being born again)