Warmth of fingers, close at hand,
Brace against thoughts racing
Faster than horses, speedier than a train
Deeper than mines, wells, or philosophy.
Can you hear the orchestra swelling?
The brasses out of tune
Clamor that hits, screeching that grates
Louder than thunder, howling, or the ringing of bells–
Bells!
Hark! The bells ring already I fear
For us, in bed, lamenting, to hear.
I groan, and you moan, the night too short
Too loud, too unrelenting–
Yet at the same, too quiet.
The mist dissipates, the grogginess stays.
And, us two…
Sadly, awake.
Toro Tokuda 