Awakening in Early Autumn

 by Brett Rutherford

(Adapted from Emperor Li Yü, Poem 5, to the tune of "Hsi Ch'ian Ying")

As my eyes open,
     the morning moon,
     pale crescent, sets.
Ashes remain;
     the incense smoke is gone.
Cold, too, the coals
     beneath the brazier --
I must wait for my tea.

Calling no one, I rest
     on this pillow and that,
remembering --

Who was I with? what
     was her name?
No matter! Right now
I have a craving
     for the scent of hay.

 Listen!
Off in the sky somewhere,
     swans weakly call.

Above me,
     on the lattice-work
     of cherry, the orioles
          hungry, unsatisfied,
dart off to fuller branches.

Chrysanthemums, those
     drooping dowagers,
          fade and fall.
No one is up. Later,
these garden embarrassments
will vanish, be sure!

Red maple leaves
     and desiccated petals
litter the enameled floor
     and clog the courtyard.

Sweet autumn carpet,
     crispèd and melancholy:
I shall have it left unswept.

I want to watch what
     the feet of dancers
          do to them.