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Yoko Danno -II

from Aquamarine




stone steps echo


in the woods in the moonlight

birds huddle against the wind –

the footsteps receding,

a woman hides herself

inside a shrine

from her gossiping neighbors –


dimly lighted,

bats chattering with radar,

from brain to brain,


in search for a vent

in an invisible crystal dome,

eyes closed tight

as rosebuds –


through the open window

a wind blows

the grasshoppers hum

off her heart

to the stone altar –


dew-lit leaves leading her dance,

soaked in silver light

her steps draw an open circle,

pigeons fed by seeds of music –


she rests like a stick of celery

in tomato juice – a monkey-god is born

when the wind blows her cover –


finally from the sea of her womb




river song


sing it to frogs

        croaking in the paddy


like a piece of soft wet silk

she presses her belly

onto a boulder in the river,

feeling the dull throb


of the molten core


cooled, veined


with moisture alive –


a woman, bathing,

freed from rice-planting,

swims underwater


to a man standing alone

under a waterfall,

immersed in the sound

of water rushing over rocks –


as if wakened from a summer

night’s ecstatic dream,

a chorus of ripples shimmer

from the cobbles on the riverbed –


in the sunlight

before spawning

salmon are frantic




road home, a mystery


this side up! – glass

is in the box,

a long journey

                is destined –


when we look up

while rotating

fixed in a ferris wheel,

an expanse of empty blue –


you like diving,

i prefer

spacewalking – you love

the tropical sea, i yearn

for snow peaks –


the same old story

back and forth,

from white leopards

to flamingos,

between songs and sutras,

woven together

at a weaver’s free will –


two minds

in an ocean

of atoms

soon to be merged

with evolving



without cease –




at sea


looking for a milestone

i followed in haste

a wavy line

along the water’s edge

before it vanishes

washed by a new wave –


with a scent of

seasonal wind

waves break

into white foam,


in unsettled daylight

in response to the tide –


after a storm is gone

scattered        white


without               markings –


i wade through water,

weeds clinging to my ankles,

shell’s edge cutting my bare feet,



heading home

where i lived

before my birth