Cucumber Sandwich

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

tatami mats
toward the distant horizon―
summer vacation

 

100 yen is enough to buy
a light—
summer festival

the fountain is
turning back
into an angel

cucumber sandwich—
we run
because we cannot fly

the Adam's apple
between white shirt
and face

In August's room
spent a day
saying―

 

a fig―
a wrist slips
through iron bars

autumn clouds―
a caressed cat
turns its back

chin resting
softly on a backrest—
a moon night

white chrysanthemums
each petal
dimly lit

living with
the darkness of bicycles
an autumn butterfly

 

withered lotus―
water's wrinkles
fading into water

a pomegranate
on a table
as long as a horse

autumn rain―
a necklace warping
on collarbones

a pear shines
being handed from
a dream to a dream

Culture Day
children stop crying
in order of height

 

each time you crouch
you grow smaller
a mushroom hunt

an autumn spider
on the ledge
between frame and wall

a pigeon and wind
heading straight
for cosmos

eating persimmons
the windowpane warms
beneath my feet

a dragonfly flies
because its inside
is too small

 

beginning of winter―
a second-hand bookstore
with one chair inside

feeling cold after the bath
my voice sounds like
a wooden horse

the bench shakes
with every laugh―
winter maple leaves

a little apart
from the battledore market
a portrait artist

face buried
in the cushion
night’s snow

 

gyoza wrappers
on the iron plate―
Christmas

a down coat’s hood
hangs from
the luggage rack

a winter day
next to a pushpin
a pushpin’s hole

returning to being human
picking up
Setsubun beans

winter strawberries―

there goes today’s
biggest dog