substance: lack of memory

Wind scatter blown from trees far away from here fall at my feet.
I link myself to the apple garden, to the oasis, that
warmth of fresh beginnings and the pleasure of subtleties once felt.
How the tree in the field now shines, the vast field as
large as a lake, a solid green lake.

jet lag

rumble tumble plane-train to
the suburbs. a taxi in Japanese.
Second day, sleep without food.
Sudden urge to rearrange the furniture.

Tremble

heartfelt-bloodlet in the afterglow of the afternoon.
Shivering slivers of slime sparkle in the sunshine. Yet,
a collection of spines rattle idly by the doorway, the entrance.
Someone dropped lint, pulled lint, rather scattering the ashes
of a pocket in the mezzanine. This, my love, my forgotten one,
this is how I tremble.