* * *
in wet asphalt
rice stalks waving.
where am i?
my hands still curve like breasts- 36 years! nothing changes!
smell of wet wools bears disguised as overcoats-
heavy trucks, now mammoths frozen in glaciers
to peel an apple-- a store full of knives and swords! ah, well--
corn is ripe somewhere. a warehouse of scarecrows? soup after prayers.
piece of matting tossed out catches the sun- Edo?
record going around, room full of music- I have forgotten the needle!