On a night like this, the ascendant moon,
Is edged by the sadness of clouds,
As it watches the luminous paper lanterns
Against decorations of pampas grass,
Rice dumplings and taro potatoes.
On this avalambara of spirits
As the ancestors stream down
To the land of their birth
The moon-faced Buddha watches
Our transient feelings.
We reflect upon our imagination
Separating good from evil,
Joys from sorrows,
And then in our ignorance
Wish a paper lantern to the moon.
