Wei Tai Ting-IV

Kitano Tenmangu

 

 

 

Cycling foreign streets

Movement rings clear

The bell in our ears

 

Sakura buds lie

Unawakened, but plum

Furiously blooms

 

On black bone

White petals, the branches

Brushstrokes on paper

 

Spelling out

Your name’s sweet scent

Carried in wind

 

Across closed screens

And sleepy students

The flow of pebbles

 

Circling ripples

Round centres of rock

Your wheels clack

 

Behind pine trees

Branching back I tease

All ways inward

 

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