This year is hard, I naively thought.
I couldn’t have predicted today’s forecast:
a softer season, a passionate life.

Summer-camp days. All your cabinmates
bloom, going straight from a sandy face
to the birth of the middle of the night.

How do you blur the boundaries?
What’s your path to a lot of hope?
Would you change the new future?

This fatal season will bring about new trees,
best friends, stars of time—I think we can be.