I raised my face to the clouds
Murmuring as though in prayer
Washing myself with birds and grasses there
With the winds and springtime

The sun on my eyelids is warm
Ah! That fickle springtime sun
Is this real, or do I dream
I am here, or am not it seems

In a southern town, a coffeehouse by the shore
In waves, ears of grain endlessly roll
Here, alone with myself
This is how I can make my life whole

I have never kissed a bird on its tongue
Some day, perhaps, I can kiss one so
Some day, perhaps, I'll become a gust of wind
And across the ears of grain I'll blow
I want my heart to merge with a summer's day
In birdsong to be born anew