Separate from curbed identity
the spirit twins to its abandoned wraith,
militant, invoking with a martyr’s faith
he swift, severe, and honorable death.
Honor seeks consummate sanctuary
beyond the whore of political praise
and the frail words the masks obey.
In men’s memory only, dishonor and theft.
The ideogram is itself a parable
of crossed images, mated presence;
the sky girdling the mountain with snow.
When the banner bleeds with winter gold
the fox will scent my absence.
The stars bow down to you, Yoritomo.