Morning at the river

Last night once more the old question arose:

Does the moon light up the night

or does night make moonlight bright?

And this morning it’s posed again for the breasts of a girl

As she comes down to the river like yesterday to bathe

The water flows, detritus follows

The girl plunges her body into the cool water.

Her hands work at keeping away the muck.

The water never ceases to flow

Every second it begins again

The present isn’t the past

—farewell!

I’m flowing too...

S.M. Ardan
tr. after Damais