Thoughts On The First Winter Day

(A revision on "His Tears")

A young sparrow dropped off the nest
as he stood up, lurching towards the sun.

Barefoot in the paddyfield, he befriended farmers
who welcomed him as soil does the rain.

There are times when dewdrops
trembling in his burst of laughter,

and when waving good-by to his brother
his head turned away, hand frozen in the air.

Now sinking in his rattan chair. Time-gnawed.
Rare substance oozes from his eyes.

I reach, too far away to catch its fall.