The Singing

The Singing
By Misha Feigin

When I become this rain
and these dark still trees
touching the restless air
with their swollen buds,
I will be this soft humid night,
and this golden shining lamp
by the window in a quiet room.
When I become a reflection
of the lamp in your eyes,
I will become you, and you
will be a bird, perched
on a naked tree branch,
a ruffled sparrow crazy with
spring, full of longing, delight,
and pain that will become
this song, but
who will be the singer?

'Although its light is wide and great,
the Moon is reflected in a puddle one inch wide.
The whole Moon and the entire sky are reflected
in one dew drop on the grass."
~Dogen