atrium— April is delivered like a pizza a dog overtaking bikes― spring river scattering flowers on a window after bathing― nata de coco a long day― stretching out on an unpurchased bed a new employee standing like a life-size panel an azalea night I might be poor or not living in the neighborhood in sweatpants on Showa Day the quiet distortion called home― flowering dogwood pushing a lettuce core in to hollow it out flower irises blooming at an elementary school with no one wearing a serious T-shirt to go get checked a banana peel curved like a banana on the curtain ebb and flow of a night Dazai’s Day a house with roses a small tank drying up pulling a folding chair the flower mat slightly warps a newly built house dozing in white spider’s afternoon forgetting your name yet not forgetting your perfume name in the shadows hydrangeas break each other apart an outer side like an inner side an insect net...
Noise early summer people with a bag or a dog dog, dog, another dog that are called dogs of May heads smile when struck clematises hands and foot passion flowers blooming in brightness the same hand is behind lacecap hydrangeas washing hair lively like a patient a small voice from a skinny child in summer dusk of water hands blooming on the glass too many tin walls overflowing trumpet creepers when it turns golden clouds are broken rainy season