AUTUMN, SHAKING PERSIMMONS

Hands and feet grasping, we mount the limbs,

those far off peaks splendid in misty air.

My body grows infinitely strong, vigorous.

Into the damp chill I stretch my arm, lifted up,

my body infinite, shining amid golden fruit.

A light rain arrives from nowhere, rinsing the dust.

Seventeen of us, shaking persimmons in autumn,

iron-colored arms, long bamboos

beating a mute rhythm. Into my infinitely open body

falls this fruit.