Winter is dying grass, or
A stream freezing,
grey,
Or headlights blurring
Behind a hill,
Or a cold wind bending down
an old tree
Near breaking.
Street Song:
I nearly always resent being kept from
The good Shinjuku nights.
I step into my Shimbashi street
To its wind and
Winter woodsmoke blowing
Down through the cold.
Men stand around a fire barrel
Warming bent hands
‘Til Kawai and family open the sake shop.
Kerosene flame in
moon-cold room
Warms the small circle of
dark smoke and dried squid smell.
Mumbled talk, big laugh
and tired come-on from Reiko.
I watch smoke curls push sideways
into one another
And wink at fat Mama-san’s
pouting face
For a ride in her heavy laughter
like a moth in the kerosene flame.
Kanagawa Backhills Shrine:
Pregnant bitch yaps
Shito forebears hover
Steaming snow enfolds
Bent pines and a silent rice offering.
Peter Voris-1968
Las Cruces
Written in Japan