You can always start with où se trouve? Point your index finger to that coordinate in the map, those tiny specks that take form as museums, hotels, bakeries. Take pleasure: walk briskly with exact measurements, not with feet. Point to the sky: the impressions of clouds rolling, following the king’s sun, exhausted stars blinking with the streetlights. Whisper lumiere.
The sun, at its highest, declares
the mandate of the gods: we were the sons
of another heaven, another empire.
There was only one throne for the emperor.
It was 2008, a Friday.
Yesterday was my birthday.
Contest points are walls,
or a closed gate.
Sakuras swaps snow.
Sunlight swords slashing sideways.
Shinkansen: speeds, slows.