Translated by W. S. Merwin

    It happens that one pronounces

    a few words just for oneself

    alone on this strange earth

    then the small white flower

    the pebble¹ like all those that went before

    the sprig of stubble

    find themselves re-united

    at the foot of the gate

    which one opens slowly

    to enter the house of clay

    while chairs， table， cupboard，

    blaze² in a sun of glory.