命が空に溶けてゆく　煙突の煙の向こうには　春の青空が広がり
流れる川の堤防を　笑いながら子供達が通り過ぎてゆく
遠くに見える家々の　軒下に干された洗濯物が　白く風に揺れ
いつもの様な時が　静かに流れている

彼岸の日に供えられた花々の　その幾らかはまだ枯れもせず
風に晒された灰色の墓石の群れを彩り
燃えさかるオレンジ色の炎は　幽かな音を立てて
過ぎし日の扉を叩く

地面にポッカリと開いた　大きな深い穴を　無言のまま覗き込んでいる様に
止まった時が　ゆっくりと過ぎてゆき
秋の様な春の日に　私の夢の中で
父の夢は静かに醒めてゆく

そうだ　此処は秋には赤トンボが群れ飛ぶんだ

早咲きの桜が満開のとき　父は逝った

----------------------------------------

11:00 a.m. March 30, 2002

A life dissolves into the sky.
Beyond the chimney smoke,
the blue of spring
stretches without end.

Along the river embankment,
children pass,
laughing.

Beneath the eaves
of houses in the distance,
white laundry
moves in the wind.

Time,
as on any other day,
flows quietly on.

Flowers
left at the graves
for the spring equinoxー
some have not yet withered.
Their quiet colors
soften
the weathered gray
of stone.

The orange fire
speaks
in a voice barely heard,
knocking gently
upon the door
of vanished days.

As though gazing,
without a word,
into the great dark opening
the earth has made,
time,
which had stood still,
begins,
ever so slowly,
to move again.

On this spring day
that somehow feels
like autumn,
within my dream,
my father's dream
quietly awakens
from the dream
called life.

In autumn,
this place
fills with red dragonflies.

When the early cherry blossoms
were in their fullest bloom,
My father quietly left this world.