Wiping out the colors
of the dream and love that form my outline,
this promise now informs me of the end.
In a scorched prairie with no flowers, I pluck emptiness.
I'll offer up my transparent white skin to the ghostly fire
with this poem.
From one dream,
from one dream to another dream, unto a glass road.
From the dream, even tears will evaporate.
From the dream,
in this world when I have awakened from the dream,
even my memories will turn out to be a dream.
As I flap my wings, I begin to sketch what I see
following the direction of my heartbeat,
which is playing for me a symphony of lies.
Like a realist,
I begin sketching infinite reality.
"I wish you were with me."
I uttered with a smile.
All those wishes I've been randomly sprinkling
are not for anyone, but merely to reflect my powerlessness.
As I remain in this place,
what shall I sing?
"I won't even be allowed to have wishes."