Translator's introduction
There are objects that we look at
Pieces of pottery given by hands from all over
A whole set of enamelware dishes that someone threw out
Tools for odd jobs of writing
So many objects that didn't ask you a thing
A more than ragged rag
Each book written is a singular object
The feeling of being in an offering
That gesture of packing woolen thread onto a loom
Feelings for what you're looking at
A Sound of Life in the Uncertain Memory

Postface
The poet
The translator