“I had not known the sudden loneliness of having it vanish,the moon in the sky of dawn.”
-The Tale of Genji
This is the death of the year,
These last, precious days when
All my world is the silence of snow
And memories of you, slow as if covered by ice.
These are the last days of my recollections,
The final thoughts of late kisses and midnight dreams.
Every day, all hours, each second that passes
Burns you indelibly onto my soul
With a heat the ice of this world never cools,
Just this cognac shall never warm me
As fully or as completely as you.
These are the last hours,
Soon what I am shall be no more;
The substance of these words less than
The memory of a snowflake while
Nestled in the bosom of June.
I cherish the nights made nutritious by your smile
And I long to regain August while in the heart of winter.
Stretching each hour, always aware of the passing seconds,
I lick the face of my watch to taste the essence
Of the times we spent loving,
Of all the words between us,
Of every passion we ignited,
Every dream we gave birth to.
But this is the death of the year
Spring’s promises and summer’s heat
Gone just as surely as autumn’s leaves,
And your hand gone forever from mine.