Flower
The wind
blows.
Lightly holding the end of the skirt
that
white
woman’s hand
white
flower petal
by chance
catching
your
eye
flower!
The wind
is blowing, but
the wind
is blowing, but
Unrequited Love
The only thing that I have
standing on the road as you were passing by
I threw it upon your surprised temples and fled
now it is resting on my pale wrist
naked pulse
of life.
I put on the clothing of a few years
change masks a few times
Today, I sit in the driver’s seat again and release the emergency brake,
but do you think I can go now?
Path in the field
where the adorable olive trees are standing in a row
I go to you and—
field
full
March wheat rippling
mask
on my button-up shirt.
printed in The Street Where the Pipa Boy Disappeared.