Waiting in the Wind

With branches rustling
on the starlit night
I am waiting
till plum-spirits are out
and bamboos rest.

With the wind whistling,
sea tides rising,
I am waiting
until surges break on shore
into a bitter waste.

When the wind is wandering,
waiting is a mistake
like yielding to red leaves falling
and snowflakes melting.

I wait until another spring comes,
which makes my heart ache with longing
for a sweet trace of fragrances in the wind,
seeking its completion in my heart.