The sound of her footsteps
on the frozen path to his door?
No, it’s just his own heartbeat.
Waiting for his lover
as the snow closes in.
That surge of small birds
across the sky, turning
turning as one
in the morning light
making the heart soar.
She’s gone, and now, hours later
he picks up the cup
she drank from,
presses it to his lips,
a kiss.
That surge of small birds
across the sky, turning
turning as one
in the evening light
breaking the heart.
Burning her letter,
he smells one last time
the perfume she drenched it in –
sudden incense, intensely sweet.
Then it’s acrid cinders, ash.
ISSA, RYOKAN, SANTOKA
The following are versions, translations into Glasgow speech, of haiku by three great Japanese poets – Issa (1763–1827), Ryokan (1758–1831) and Santoka (1882–1940).