I've heard this thing where， when someone dies，

    People close up all the holes around the house-

    The keyholes， the chimney， the windows，

    Even the mouths of the animals， the dogs and the pigs.

    It's so the soul won't be confused， or tempted¹.

    It's so when the soul comes out of the body it's been in

    But that doesn't work anymore，

    I won't simply go into another one

    And try to make itself at home，

    Pretending as if nothing happened.

    There's no mystery-it's too much work to move on.

    It isn't anybody's fault. A soul is like any of us.

    It gets used to things， especially after a long life.

    The way I sit in my living-room chair，

    The indentation I have put in it now

    After so many years-that's how I understand.

    It's my chair，

    And I know how to sit in it.