John Biscello

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.