How come the night is no thief—
the throne bejeweled by marbled

walls, onyx shingles, spirited well,
still spared from all nightmares?

From the station, from afar, from
the point of still dreaming

hear the egret slowly fanning
the sounds of the syllabary.

The raven sits still, probably
listening. My throat thrums.

We both fly away. A year passes
against the fish-fireproofed roof.

There were no castles on my island,
only palaces made of coconut and

pounded seashells.  The sun never
sets yet how come here


from ん, 2015 年 9 月 19日


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