Fictional Spring · Dazaiosamu
Moon, Hushing Spring
The lake within the lake flows quietly.The station seat is faintly warm.The piano keys are rust-stiff, husky as the sound of falling rain. Half a cool moontells nothing but empty words;only you remain of high summer. No longer rememberingwhen you merely sank into spring’s light sleep. Yet often, I rememberbefore I sank into deep sleep,having once tried to turn the hand of your heartin my direction. Even a face aglitter like starlightenvies that lawlike forgetting.That is all. Spring is lightly asleep.That is all.