17 Jun Flowers in my backpack.
Clear umbrellas ubiquitous
The sound of rain on canvas roofs
How long I’ve wanted this,
The continual sound of
Makes me grateful for the sun.
Constant and enveloping,
I forget my umbrella wherever I go.
Winter rain falls cold.
Summer rain obscures
Each day in hazy aspiration;
From the black night sky,
Solitarily returning, seeking the moon
As I used to do — Tsuki — where’d you go?
I’ve hardly seen you hiding within
Veiling clouds. I crave your guidance.
My shadow surrenders. I take the rain,
Hands raised towards the pale darkness,
Inhale a breath of air; letting out
What was once a dream
Has become routine,
Only leads us to the next;
Attune on these nightly walks
To see the world; really see it.
There is no routine. There’s today.
The rain reminds me to open
It’s June —
Cerulean bleeds into
Primrose hydrangeas like
Watercolor dusky skies; but it’s
June, and the sky’s bereft of color
Like a tranquil face, active in its thoughts,
Reticence a summer storm.
Cold coffee and perseverance.
Stepping into me, puddles glisten,
Cleaning dirt from my shoes.
I love our world,
The things which make us strange.
Different from this paradigm
Stacked in rows like books upon a shelf;
The strange can’t be replaced.
We’re all fucked up
Afraid to embrace —
You’re looked at if you stray.
But damn, don’t we all long to find
Our own way.
I watch this world from a street corner
Flowing endlessly by
I could do this all day
Not trying to be different,
What we all wish we could be;
Continue doing you.
The things which make you happy.
This is me —
Sentō on a drizzly Sunday.
Ramen line with friends.
The bookstore making new ones
Scouring classics and fantasy before
Puddles splash, redirection of
Reflection, who I am
What I’ve seen and done —
Puddles drying concrete from
The sunlight of a new day,
Flowers in my backpack
Carry color through the summer grey.