A drowsy thought, how the name sounds like a plucked string, Kyoto– I’ve never been, but have read some Basho– his sad bird calling, air that cracks. Another one of these! Too tired to rest, this less a dream of a place and more a dream of dreaming, of foreign concepts– laquered maples, bamboo groves, and sleeping
Another glass night no purchase no bas relief of dreams impermeable or fragmented which is worse the presence of an edge or its absolute abscence an ocean without its shore
Still life with street lamp and Gingko tree– a high-ceilinged room filled with empty hours and extremes, too cold, too hot, that ancient itch. In the lusterless dark I cannot cross over to sleep– a wild thought, an unlikely doubt, a drop in the sea, so gazing out onto a vacant street I wait for the rain to start.
OPTIONAL POETRY 