With the Morning Dew

With the morning dew the sun sways coquettishly, whispering farewell to the moon. For in farewell there is longing. It is morning, then.. A sun combing her hair on the riverbank, and a lover sailing in the blueness of the sea — yet she remains waiting. She hears the song of a distant moon and a plea for a beloved to return.

O sun, laden with passion, sway upon the chord of the soul a song so that lovers may hear your voice.. That they may say farewell at the harbors of waiting, for words have abandoned them.. And silence has become the language of speech.

Did they not say: If you do not understand my silence, you do not understand my words?

So let longing remain an ember for lovers, and let lovers search for those they love, and let your farewell be — for in farewell there is torment.