If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
Along my journey / through this transitory world, / new year's housecleaning.
Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.
The desire to break the silence with constant human noise is, I believe, precisely an avoidance of the sacred terror of that divine encounter.