ACCOUNT OF MY DAYS
Sequence: 7
GINSENG
a pair of golden hands
holds up a bundle of polished red stones
if some trespasser comes
to dig the root
I will never see those hands again
so I take the ginseng myself
and move it to a bed
in the shade near the house
prepared as the books say to do
with rotted leaves
the root in my hand looks like
a plump little man
so fast asleep
his limbs dangle from him
and the stalk and leaves
are like a dream rising from his head
that night I again dream I am a thief
I escape safely
with the gold in my hand
across the dark plain
to a range of nought where
nothing pursues
where there is
no dream no dreamer
a sleep that has been emptied
even of anyone to say the word sleep