Cicardini
An aeroplane moves across theground at five hundred miles inevery hour, chasing its threedimensional doppel that stealsthe sun, castingit in shaded form flowingover bleached stubble-fields,crossing roads lumpening overforest canopies, an umbra filledwith the shadow bodies of shadowpeople flashing upon the eyelidsof the earthen folk in their dailydrives and all the meanwhilethe silver tube moves higher andaway, separating from itsshade setting coursesdivergent, intentions displaced,one to slide across the surface likea planarian worm, the other aa roaring avian with cloud-slimetail; yet in some many momentstheir love for one another willgrow, remembering their symbiosis,their shared reveries and be drawn,each to the other in gravitationalinevitability, to meet in trystupon the asphalted aisle, toembrace, the rounded and the flat,under an August moon.I had never seen a purplesunrise - but now I have -ultra violet.
Kōrinja
By the bell, by the temple walllanguage was lost, meaning forgottenhonour the ancestors combyour maiden hairsby a Ginko tree, sing in stridulationin semi-cicada sonority.
Dusk lights the way throughcrepuscular folds of thought;the dead remain,dead as the age that grew them,whilst the brooms of their childrencatch cob-webs at the back of the shrine.
Sweeping Jorōgamo intotheir branching mouths the spider eatersclash tymbals and shake their tailsthey will guard the hundred steps,wipe clean all thoughts in a sonic bath;the Cicardini, speak before the spoken,five years in the earth listening,one summer of singing.
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