Koichi Horiba

(The English translation was made by the author himself.)

After the south wind has run through,
The man lifts up his frozen back.
Taking out the dried-up mind from a drawer,
He washes it carefully in the starry sky.
Then he dyes it with milk, dries under the morning sun,
And mends with white cloth
Till it begins singing like a migratory bird
Who has just returned from a long journey.
While the area is covered with transparent silence,
Those days when nothing happened appear and disappear.
Putting the mind into the black commuter bag,
He turns off the radio, spelling a word of charm:

Ha-to-ga-ma-me-ku-te-pa
(A dove eats beans and flies away
leaving the sound 'pa' behind.)

When the glass door is opened,
Vapor of asphalt flows out against the sky,
Coming and going airily between the openings of dreams.
It's time to wake up.
With the yelling of the city
He melts into the asphalt,
Witnessing elephants beckon around the horizon.