Memoire
My sister died in the autumn wind. I tried picking her white bones up out of the ash, but they kept breaking. The oven they burned her in was warm. All round about the autumn wind kept turning. I placed my lips and tongue to the cheek of her child. Then I set out on a journey. Infrequent letters from my love had ceased to come. The sea was clear: the sky was blue. At that time I was reading Aristotle. A battleship was anchored off the coast. You heard the bugle calls at dusk. Then again the lights came on. Some ceremony taking place up on the mountain. I walked a long way between fields of rice. Then a long flight of ancient steps among the trees. You see it was a long way up that mountain. I drank there; I poured wine.
—Miyoshi Tatsuji
—found in The Modern Japanese Prose Poem (1980; this poem ca. 1920-1940)