Interiors
The history of shadows, a longing
for brightness to bring through your
eyes shapes and their
belongings: our differences, entwined.
It is evening. Wind breathes in the trees and
through your hands at the piano, returning
speech to its origin, clouds, the moon,
burning wood. November, dying.
How often I fail through lack of words.
Beauty in form. Not to create but as in
respiration, to share, to accept and
return without thought. In and out,
the days reciprocate. White, black. Figures
waiting in darkness for light to come bear them.
Another poem from the 80s, “Interiors” made its first appearance here in May 2015.
O at the Edges 
Beautiful writing, thanks for sharing s
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Thank you very much!
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A writer’s curse to “fail through lack of words” … how to summon the right ones at critical times! Good news for lots of us is that you seem to eventually find those words and weave them into intrigue.
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Though the right words are often reluctant to emerge, they eventually do in most cases, if weβre patient. π
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Merry Christmas! Since I am not in Japan anymore I won’t be able to have “Kurisumasu ni wa Kentakki”, ‘Kentucky Fried Chicken for Christmas,’ which became a fun thing to do thanks to a KFC ad campaign in the 70s. But I can always go have regular old Canadian KFC. Merry Christmas and may your poems flow like fine wine in 2020…
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Thank you, Daniel. This has been a merry Kurisumasu indeed, full of joy and peace. I hope yours is as well.
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Thoughts that reciprocate.
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It would be nice. If only…
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You can never tell…!
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