From the series, Japan Poems.
A most gorgeous, delicate, tenuous
tenor of web,
embroidered with translucent beads
of morning-cut rain,
this the ephemeral lens
through which to view a landscape, a scene,
quarter-notes of a dream,
or dreaming itself pinned to a plot of gauze–
We bow down, emulating chorus, and peer closer.
A procession moves in whispers, in miniature.
A tribute remembers itself to the praise of your vision
before it what was told what or how to see,
your vision a roving vagrant
and guest among the world’s briefest exhales
and most generous feasts for the senses.
John Biscello 