I took a crow's
attention from
Mt. Fuji---
and now feel stupid



Rain pachinkos down
through neon characters:
GOOD NOODLES HERE



When I die I hope
all my dreams were recorded
onto DVD



Dear Moon,
hold still! The owl
has just started its song



When you return---
come thru the garden,
I've grown something
sweet for you



I watch ostrich
play tic-tac-toe
in the sand



In frosting silence,
sharp things become smooth
if kept in the sky long enough



Lying on the earth,
transparent katydids crouch
on my face---thru them,
I watch the Milky Way



The deaf church
cricket who is afraid
of heights

*

As I am someone else's opinion,
I try to understand myself as a stranger.
I am familiar because of the strangeness.

This is the ladder---your first steps into the height. There are no apples. There are no angels. There is only broken shadow and socket; a rounded house of milk and voltage. Now, as you unscrew the bulb with fingertips, listen for the sand. It is sand from ancestral beaches were all families of glass have been blown. A beach where dinosaurs are continually struck by lightning. Continue swiveling until the blown-out bulb is free from the ceiling. Come down, but do not look down. Use the eye in each shoe to find the lower rungs. Place the old bulb in with the dish of pears. The new carton of bulbs are close by, sleeping. Unwrap a fresh bulb from its onionskin pajamas and ascend the same ladder previous. Using your musical hand, insert the threaded end up into the unthreaded beginning. Turn gently in the direction of sunrise until snug. Pull the chain, for the light of God's echoing equation will now sing. Squint and descend.