Omachi Onsen

Rocks commit to the bamboo screen
words commit to the blank page

the emptiness of a shrub
hung with pink limp rags
the heaviness of granite rocks

peering over my shoulder

artificiality: an ant grey at each end
a young maple planted
catches the first rays of sun

swallows belong to the evening

seams of quartz
darker green
country folk

hollows that were eyes
pock-holes nostrils
only a few teeth left

even the crow has two tones
I have my shadow
deeper in the rock
wet hands

further out sounds are the earth to earth
a motorcycle, water dripping down the drain,
dull splats on the paper
a rain that never ceases
with one small sunlit morning
resting calmly on the apex of its infinity
a crown of foolishness, a hangover, a garden,
someone else’s memory

Caution the light
with birdsong in it
the rock opens

and we see hands were here,
wet hands on the rocks
they commit two dripping prints.

– 1 July 2014