Caja de Música

Music from Japan. Greedily
Drops detach from the clepsydra
Of slow honey or invisible gold
That in time repeat a plot
Eternal and fragile, mysterious and clear.
I fear that each one may be the last.
They are a yesterday that returns. From what temple,
From what light garden in the mountain,
From what vigils before a sea I ignore,
From what modesty of melancholy,
From what lost and rescued afternoon,
Do they reach me, their remote future?
I won't know. It doesn't matter. In that music
I am. I want to be. I bleed out.