bringing with them
trains, wolves, new rivers,
a dry night that I died
and you weren't sad.
if I wrote the way
a river flows, or how a wolf howls,
then I would be remembered.
rouse me, rouse me!
from grave of the day,
and let me sit on your shoulders
to see the raucous sun that once was,
while an earthquake pronouncement
shuttles your new newness
into my old air of care.
if they all leave town,
will we be left to drown
in our own wayward ardor, of sorts?
I can't canopy every bridge
to see what's hidden
in a room in a room
in the floating world
undone by what's to come.
make and catch, friend,
make believe, catch a thief,
but watch out for serpent tigers,
because they come in books
looking like beautiful girls in songs.