This snow is new.
My lover is away
Fourth month without a letter
The small stream by our home will freeze soon
The fish will move upstream
I don’t know how to catch fish
But I sit with my pole to forget
The trees are shedding their leaves
And the snow on the mountaintops are growing
I’ll start painting again
It’s four months now and I haven’t seen the postman
My lover quests and I thirst
Maybe the postman is dead; maybe I am dead.