Ono Tozaburo

is someone waiting

A white horse walks, hanging its head low
by the evening seashore
where not a soul is seen
across its bare back, the horse carries
a prostrate man in a prison uniform
His dangling hands are tied
almost reaching the ground
the blood dripping along his fingers
falls, dotting the sand
I know not where the horse is going
it just keeps walking down the long, long deserted beach