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,
fluttering
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
erupted
cooled, veined
saturated
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
whole
churning
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,
ever-changing
in unsettled daylight
in response to the tide –
after a storm is gone
scattered white
butterflies
without markings –
i wade through water,
weeds clinging to my ankles,
shell’s edge cutting my bare feet,
blindly
heading home
where i lived
before my birth
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,
fluttering
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
erupted
cooled, veined
saturated
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
whole
churning
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,
ever-changing
in unsettled daylight
in response to the tide –
after a storm is gone
scattered white
butterflies
without markings –
i wade through water,
weeds clinging to my ankles,
shell’s edge cutting my bare feet,
blindly
heading home
where i lived
before my birth