During the banquet <br />what poem can I say for him <br />as the wine cup comes <br />floating by on the winding <br />waters? I am not a stone <br />in the garden, nor <br />an oak, nor a stalwart line <br />of night-mooring rocks <br />Not a ship held at anchor <br />nor the treasure sought at sea <br />I am what it means <br />to wander—Ukifune <br />a boat long adrift <br />in the sound of dark water <br />Outside the house at Uji <br />where I have been put <br />I hear rain swept hills calling <br />and the cry of deer <br />the rush of water falling <br />the slow tolling of a bell <br />Who is it that hears? <br />So smoothly, so smoothly glides <br />my boat, that were I <br />to merge with the winter sea <br />would there be any ripple? <br />Snow falls on cedars <br />Snow melts from the bough also <br />Who is it that hears <br />the torrential ebb and flow <br />in the heart? In wine? In snow?<br /><br />Margaret Gibson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drifting-boat/
