Inside me is a vegetable patch. Inside me is an old hut, inside that rests a plough. Inside me is a woman, beside her is a faithful dog. Inside me are imprisoned many crows, the flapping of their wings awakens me in the night. Inside me is a small boy. A yet unborn boy. He is silent. Silent and curled into a ball. Inside me is filled with the liquid of time. It’s white and smells good, viscid like chaos. The buds of time find it difficult to crystallize. Inside me are seeds. All the seeds. Inside me is a harvest wastefully harvested day after day. Countless evening suns. Inside me is a pillar of dreams. -- translated by Leith Morton (originally published by Vagabond Press : Poems of Masayo Koike, Shuntaro Tanikawa & Rin Ishigaki)