Misdirection of the Meteorite

Estranged father at midnight,
I came to my senses long ago.
The meteor in parallax flight,
Estranged father at midnight,
Neither nadir nor in the light.
Our heavens have sent you below.
I came to my senses long ago,
Estranged father at midnight.

The Woman, the Crow

After Crow on a Branch, by Maruyama Ōkyo

The night wears on and on again.
A crow on a branch shifts its pose
As mists press lightly upon the fen --
The night wears on and on again.
I’ve come to love a tragedienne,
But she is late and so it goes.
The night wears on and on again.
A crow on a branch shifts its pose.

The Road

The road is lost around the bend.
I think I will resolve to quit.
Do you think the world will end?
The road is lost around the bend
But I will sing while I descend
And watch with fear my breath demit.
I think I will resolve to quit.
The road is lost around the bend.

Sleep

Sleep is the most potent symbol.
It’s what we work toward each day.
We wake from death to ply the thimble --
Sleep is the most potent symbol.
It’s how we tread on nothing nimble;
We recall our youth and tremble.
Sleep is the most potent symbol.
It’s what we work toward each day.

What's the Meaning of Life?

There is no meaning in anything --
This is obvious and true.
It doesn’t matter what song we sing,
There is no meaning in anything.
We don’t fly with a wounded wing;
We don’t from above take second string.
There is no meaning in anything.
This is obvious and true.

Tryst in the Forrest

The trees are bare as bare is white.
I stood on tiptoes to kiss a shadow
But my love slipped away in the night.
The trees are bare as bare is white,
Ghost leaves flutter just out of sight,
And I have loved a love below.
The trees are bare as bare is white –
I stood on tiptoes to kiss a shadow.

Thief

A wren stole my voice, so I had to write things down --
Impossibly demanding, considering my hands
Only exist in dreams. I fell asleep each time
I had an idea, taciturn, stillborn out of sleep,

And my dream fingers would begin to move like sticks,
Carefully, patiently, they grasp the sheet of paper,
That like a sprung trap shook with fright. O’ Pangur Bán,
I could use your sharp claws. It’s a nightmare to talk asleep.

Awake, chary, I read what I penned:
“I’m going to get that goddamn wren.”

Crooked Meditation on Early Winter

Embank me, o’ envelope of low thought.
No longer longing for anything worldly,
The bum and I together pray for nought.

In spires of trees the rapture of burley
Bludgeons the name of a lover who’s gone,
As if it were a sad little song. The rain

Has come! the rain has come into dawn!
O’ morning canter, plow clean this lane
With strokes of wings above the cityscape

And melting Christ-faced snowmen by the curb.
Bring green women of bushes to undrape,
And fish in newsprint to ruin the suburbs.

An old woman smoking through her teeth
Has won the scratch off lotto underneath.