Each spring they return,
bound to renew small wonders–
Innocent by turns.

(Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
Each spring they return,
bound to renew small wonders–
Innocent by turns.

(Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
Night swallowing its
own tale of snake swallowing
its own tail of night.

(Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
How little they know,
of her flights beyond reason–
Her world, winged, widens.

(Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
Nesting, she brooded
on the future of free range–
No claims to hold her.

(Artwork by Izumi Yokoyama)
No sitters to tend,
solvent to its own winter–
If these floors could talk.

(Installation by Izumi Yokoyama)
The girl in the chair
is no longer the girl in the chair,
she is neither here nor there,
she is always and forget-me-not,
soul-spray and glacial uproar
causing a siege,
she is the spidery patterns
of her exploded heart,
woven in to the ritual symmetry
of a fibrous arc,
where a girl once sat,
once upon a time, forever.

(Instalation by Izumi Yokoyama)
It would be the last time,
the last thinning whatever
that gave night its fool’s edge
and lyrical tilt—
Scraping half-moon fingernails
against famished odds,
he briefly paused to consider
the bottomless gorge
of a hungry ghost
demanding of its host-body
a moveable feast.



Traversing,
in a beat shuffle
and worn cadence,
many oblique side streets
and shadow-stained back alleys
to arrive at where he now stood—
the white-hot lure
and rigged bait
of a suspect angel,
who played hard to get,
beckoned with an ineffable wink.
