Hikari

My dearly beloved, bullet train

I was arrested in car number twelve

From Osaka to Tokyo

You had me at train now departing

I’ve committed to memory

Your clean blue and white lines

They remind me of calmness

And I sat transfixed

As Japan rushed me by

As if handmade, hand sculpted, hand nurtured

By an artist with the most loving caresses

Your countryside embellished

With farms of both rice paddies

And the photovoltaic variety

Greenhouses stitching them together

Your cities vibrant and technicolour

Advertisements of character

Tied in ribbons of rivers lined with sakura

And your mountains stood misty

Hooded and strong in a mask of green

Trees to protect what I know must be true

The earth is beloved, and held room in its heart for bullet trains and dreaminess

My own pulsed and resounded

To the rhythm of your topography

Keeping time with your wind speeds

There was no justice in photography

So I drank instead with my eyes

That I used as I wept to the sunset

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Loving in Cold Weather

Soft skinned and bubbly, child,

You are fresh faced and beautiful

I want to hold you in safer arms and whisper sunny thoughts

You should not be in storms like these

These days of grey and choicelessness

We stay inside to help ourselves

Acquaint ourselves to biscuits, tea and knitted throws

It’s not all bad

Sandwiching yourself between soft things

And in all honesty I want to

Sandwich you in my arms two

No matter how hard they start to ache

Like longings unfulfilled,

Dreams left between the pillowcase and coverlet

Fresh faced with bones unfused

Unready for the wilderness outside.

I’m learning and you’re still learning

Oh we’re learning to translate the howls of wind

Back into its desperate kisses

Learning how to love the bite of winter and the frost

Untamed but limitless

It’s beautiful

Origami

You are the origami craftsman cleverly concealing

layers

under

folds.

You only reveal your sharpest tips,

Your strongest wits

To protect inside those crumpled paper bits.

It’s a little bit

disconcerting, I should think,

That beautiful’s only whole.

But this whole time

you’ve spent alive

seems much entwined in building paper holds.

And that, I think, is something altogether bold.