Death

A fisherman

rested last night

at the foot of these cliffs

watching the sun set

at dawn   he drew water

from a sparkling river

collected dry bamboo

for a fire

prepared tea

before I awoke

he had packed and gone

while sunlight burnt off

this damp low fog

do I hear him rowing

away      sounds

magnified by mist

pulsating from cliffs

under a rainbow

I look after him

down the fjord

white clouds

above far cliffs

chase each other

                        Liu Tsung Yuan

                        translated by David Sen

                            revisions by Dick Russell

©  Dick Russell, 2013