HEMLINES TO HIROSHIMA
In the great gauge of the world at least we are talking:
your voice beats the sound of your gun? I look out
to the distance : Mount Fuji, again, undone?
-
Here the moon is unsettled; it sits low, like a ridge
on the crest, biding some bayside time 'til tomorrow
comes by. I'll send a hello to the new season.
-
How does this go? Or how did it?
The God of the past is long ago vanished,
and the God of the future has not yet arrived,
and we, as in a dream, are born into the time between,
not knowing what we should understand as Real.
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