after Murakami
That was when I saw him
crashed on the shore
there was no sunlight, only rain
the empty ice bucket was a pail
seashells, memory and dreams
overflowing its rim
later, to warm up
he gave me matcha
tea in a green thermos
whisked until foamy
the sweet toasted bitterness
brings it on
that place, that beach
where I first saw
nothing ever changes
light works its way
slowly through, changing
into sound waves
only in a novel could the world shift
so suddenly, so rationally
every age is this age another age
feeling that touch
fingers against the brain
coming in fast, too fast to stop it
washing over and taking with it
another sandcastle.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.