Life under surveillance is
Captivity.

You alone can discover God.

Was that his step that sounded on the stair?
Was that his knock I heard upon the door?
I grow so tired I almost cease to care,
And yet I would that he might come once more.

It was the wind I heard, that mocks at me,
The bitter wind that is more cruel than he;
It was the wind that knocked upon the door,
But he will never knock nor enter more.

Ka か
Ke け
Ki き
Ko こ
Ku く

I write,
Over and over again,
As if chanting silently
To ward off
Forgetfulness
And a growing sense
Of impending mediocrity.